The Dwarves of Grey
by J. APPLEGATE
Summary: Darik Brosca had only ever been a casteless dwarf, shunned by society with nothing to lose but his sister. Elezabeth Aeducan had only ever been a princess, and the most popular of three children. But when their lives as they knew them end in the dawn of the Fifth Blight, the last thing they thought would happen is falling in love with each other.
1. The Life of a Brand

_One thing that surprises me out of all the pairings in all of the Dragon Age fanfictions on this site is that there are no Brosca/Aeducan pairings. I would think this to be a rather obvious one. So, despite being terrible at handling two, let alone three, stories at once, I decided to undertake this venture.  
_

_Updates will range anywhere from a week to two weeks, probably. This might change if I get a little lazy, or if I end up working a little harder than normal._

* * *

**THE LIFE OF A BRAND**

**Darik**

Darik Brosca knew the day wasn't going to be fun when he awoke to the voice of Anor Beraht. It came from the next room, and was followed by that of his sister Rica's. He groaned at the thought of what the two of them might be discussing, knowing that it couldn't be anything good.

He sat up from his uncomfortable stone bed. The bedroom was small; smaller still due to the fact that it was where he, Rica, and their mother all slept. Darik noticed that his mother had woken up before, something of a rarity these days. _She'll be drinking already, no doubt._

Darik slid on his rough hide boots—the soles of which were wearing thin from age and neglect—and left the bedroom. Sure enough, the leader of the Carta was in the next room, standing smugly in his heavy armor with his arms crossed in front of the red-haired dwarf. With his regular visits to and from Dust Town, one might think he was casteless; but to public-eye Beraht was a respectable shop-owner and a member of the Merchant Caste. Privately, he was the head of the largest illegal organization Orzammar had technically never seen in years. He used the casteless primarily, as no one with a brand on their face would ever be believed by the guards if they were ever caught doing a job for him.

That was part of how Darik ended up employed by the bastard, along with some help of a... family member... and in turn how Beraht was introduced to Rica.

One wouldn't think that Rica and Darik were siblings when seen together, for all they shared were their brands and their sapphire eyes; such was the case for many half-siblings in the city. Rica was small for a dwarf, with bright scarlet hair she normally kept tied up in a bun. She'd taken up Beraht's offer to improve her and her family's standing in Orzammar, and thus was now a noble hunter: a woman seeking to become the mother of a noble's son. Except for the brand under her right eye, she was able to attract a lot of attention with her looks. And with the money Beraht had put into her to make her even more appealing to the men of the Noble Caste, it was only a matter of time before the whole Brosca family would move into the Diamond Quarter.

Darik, on the other hand, was taller than the average dwarf; Beraht was usually annoyed by looking up to him when looking down upon him. His thick beard had a single braid in it and covered a good deal of his face. He cut his dark brown hair himself, and because of that it was short and choppy, as well as uncombed and not often washed. Being in the Carta had helped him develop skills he had not previously known. Lockpicking and pickpocketing were his specialties, but he'd been known to hold his own in a fight. Darik favored a sword-and-dagger combo, and had been trained to engage foes from the shadows rather than directly.

Beraht glanced at Darik for a second—long enough to sneer at him—and then returned his eyes to Rica. "I can't keep gambling on you forever, precious. You got a sweet look, something to light a man on fire. But you got to make it count."

Rica saw Darik approaching, sighed, and looked back at Beraht. "Can we discuss this later, Beraht? I'd rather not do so in front of my brother."

"Why not?" He glared at Darik. "You know the slope of the land, don't you, boy?"

"Didn't I tell you not to talk that way to my sister?" Darik asked rhetorically, moving between Beraht and Rica as he did so.

"You've told me a lot of things," Beraht said coolly, "not one of which meant more than a fart in the middens. Before me, your sister was just another duster." He pushed Darik far enough aside to see Rica again. "Now check her out! Braids down to here, gold-capped teeth; she can recite elf-poetry and play the string-harp. Every man's dream!"

"Thank you," Rica said timidly. She was not one to speak ill of or to Beraht, and never directly to his face. Darik, on the other hand, did so regularly to prove that Beraht did not own them.

"All she's gotta do is find a lord, squeeze out some kid who looks like him, and we'll all be living the easy life in the Diamond Quarter," said Beraht.

Darik opened his mouth to argue but closed it when Rica placed a hand on his shoulder. "Please don't get involved," she pleaded. "You know that never goes well."

"I don't like to see him treating you that way," Darik said. Though Rica was his elder by four years at the age of twenty-eight, Brosca had always been the one watching out for her.

Beraht scoffed. "I'll treat her however I like, as long as your family is eating off my plate. You keep your head down and say 'aye' to any job I decide is low enough for scum like you. In return, I put out coin so she can doll herself up and get a bellyful of some nobleman's brat. Then you both go free, and I get to join the family and be called, 'my lord,' for the rest of the little prince's life."

_Unless she has a daughter, then we're back to square one. _"So what are you doing here?" Darik asked. "You usually send me jobs though one of your lackeys."

"You _are _one of my lackeys, Brosca," Beraht reminded him. He nodded towards Rica. "I'm here to check on my investments. And right now, they don't bear much gold. I'm giving you another week, precious. If you haven't found a patron by then, you'll go back to sweeping streets."

"But... I have. I've met someone"

Darik turned so he could see her. "You got yourself a noble?"

"Not yet," she said. "But he does seem interested. It's nothing definite, but he... he said he wanted to see me again."

Darik nudged Beraht with his elbow. "Watch yourself, Beraht," he warned, "we may not need you pretty soon."

"Everyone needs me," Beraht said, elbowing the younger dwarf a little harder. "Because everyone has things they want and my Carta—we're the ones who provide. Until you can do that, you're nothing but my errand-boy. So shut up, and do as you're told."

"So you did come here for me too, then." Darik cracked his knuckles. "You want me to beat someone up for you?"

"Good guess," Beraht applauded. "Your buddy Leske's waitng outside. He'll fill you in on what I'll need from both of you today. Don't even think about bungling this job. Your whole family's on loose sand with me right now, and I know you don't have anywhere else to turn."

Without another word, Beraht headed for the door and exited the hut. He left behind him awkward silence that lingered the air for the longest time.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Rica finally whispered to him.

Darik sniffed loudly. "I fuckin' hate that guy. Just because he can walk down any street in Orzammar without being stared out like a piece of trash, he thinks he can treat us however he wants!"

"He's not all bad; we wouldn't have this house if not for him." Rica patted Darik on the back. "And if it goes well with the noble I met, all that you and I have done will have been worth it."

"I guess."

"Just be careful with him until we're out of Dust Town. You've been lucky so far; he thinks it's funny when you and Leske get vulgar. Some of the nobles I've met, they'd as soon have your head for speaking your mind. That's why I didn't tell either of you about the noble. Beraht's been warning me ever since two of his other girls found patrons at Lord Harrowmont's reception. They've been getting gifts already; Lord Rousten gave Elsye a surface-silk gown and she's not even pregnant. Beraht's getting impatient."

"I just wish we didn't have to kiss his arse all the time."

Rica frowned. "You know the other options. Cleaning middens... begging... going to the surface." She shuddered at that last suggest. Darik didn't see why; he couldn't think of anywhere worse than Dust Town. _Sod the Ancestors. They obviously don't care about us. _"No, unless you find a way to save us all from the darkspawn and become a Paragon, we're pretty much on Beraht's leash until I birth a noble's son. And if it's a daughter... then we'll be on it for life."

"Me, a Paragon?" Darik snorted at the very thought of something so ridiculous. "That'll be the day."

"It wouldn't be the first time a casteless became a Paragon," she pointed out. "Gherlon the Blood-Risen was born casteless, you know, before he went to the surface. And he came back and won the throne!"

Darik shrugged. "I bet he wasn't some crime lord's bitch."

"Many Paragons have humble origins. All that matters is that the Assembly recognizes their achievements. And once they get that vote, they found their own house, and are as noble as if the Ancestors themselves made it so."

"Keep dreaming, Rica."

Her frown turned into a smile. "Until I'm dead, little brother. But until then, we can only serve as Beraht demands, and he won't like it if either of us is late."

"You're right," he said. "I better get my gear on, in case things go bad."

Rica ruffled his hair, having to stretch her arms as high as she could, making it messier than it already was. "Stay out of trouble. I'll see you tonight."

They diverged into different directions. Darik back into the multi-person bedroom; Rica out the door to go meet her nobleman. Darik opened the small chest at the end of his stone bed and started pulling out his full set of leather armor. It was made of the same dingy material as his boots, and it showed. Several holes and tears that would cost money to be patched had been left untreated. One of his gloves was both bigger and a darker color than the other. Inside the chest was also his rusty iron longsword and dagger. All of the equipment had been given to him for a "modest" cost by Beraht, and had likely been the goods he couldn't sell to anyone.

He would complain about it, but the armor had stopped a blade or two from killing him in the past, and the weapons had stopped his attackers. _Gotta work with whatcha got._

It took him only a few minutes to put everyone on. The last thing he had to do was slide his sword into the sheath on his left hip and his dagger into the right one. He left the bedroom, passed through what was the closest thing to a sitting room, and entered what some might describe as a dining room simply because it had a table and two chairs.

Sitting at the table was Kalah Brosca. A haggard old drunk who'd made the mistake of having children with another casteless. Darik never knew his father, as the man had moved to the surface alone after Kalah had refused to leave Orzammar. That, and her first husband—Rica's father—having been murdered by another duster, had led her to become great friends with the drink. Now all she did was sit about and nag at her children.

Darik hated the woman, but she'd given him life, so he tolerated her as best he could.

"Good morning, Mother," he said to her as he was walking towards the door.

"Wash sho good abou' it?" she slurred, spilling some of her ale over her already-ruined dress.

"Goodbye, Mother," Darik grumbled. He sped up his pace and left the house before his mother could say anything else.

* * *

Whoever had coined the name "Dust Town" must have been made a Paragon, for never had someone been so descriptive with so few words. It was supposedly the former location of Orzammar's palace and the oldest part of the city, which could be true as half of the sparse amount of buildings that were there were merely broken and decayed ruins. Nobody lived in Dust Town by choice; it was the part only part of Orzammar the casteless dwarves could call home. Everyone who resided there did so in poverty; the Brosca family was among the few dwarves not forced to sleep in the streets. The crime-rate was high, as guards rarely visited the ghetto. _Probably another reason the Carta is comprised of almost only dusters._

Darik found Leske waiting for him across the street. The fellow Carta member was, like Beraht, a bit shorter than Brosca. He'd been trained as a warrior but used daggers in each hand rather than sword-and-shield, and wore leathers for speed rather than metal for protection. His face was more visible than Darik's as his beard was only stubble and his hair was pulled back in dreadlocks. The brand was there, as it was for all casteless. The two of them became friends through Beraht, as they'd often been paired together for jobs issued to them.

Leske nodded to him once he noticed Darik. "About sodding time. I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and get an eyeful of that spicy sister of yours."

"Better shut your trap before I do it for you," Darik half-threatened. "Besides, you're not Rica's type; she's a noble hunter."

"But no hot-blooded dwarf can help him," Leske laughed. "Those perfect lips... just made to be screaming my name..." He smiled mischievously. "You must have had a few naughty thoughts yourself, huh? What do you say?"

"I say you'll find talking to people harder once I've cut your tongue out."

Darik was kidding, and it mostly came across to Leske. "You know I'm kidding. It's strictly hands off with me and Rica. Forbidden lovers are what we are. But as much as I'd love to keep chatting, we'd better get down to business, or else Beraht will have both of our tongues and do naughty things with them.

Darik grinned. "You got a sick sense of humor. Maybe that's why I like you so much. So what are we doing today?"

"Boss says we're out for a search-and-discipline. One of his smugglers is holding out on him. Name's Oskias. Some surfacer. Beraht got word that he's been selling shipments topside that never make it to Beraht's ears down here. He wants us to find the rotter and see what goods he's holding back."

"He's stealing from Beraht?" Darik asked. Leske nodded. "I like him already."

"Yours will be a short and tragic relationship, since Beraht wants us to ensure that he doesn't return to the surface if he is holding out on him."

This was the one part of the job that Darik had never liked: permanently taking out the trash. He had no problem beating heads and killing in self-defense, but he refused to become a murderer. Leske wasn't as moral as him, and had always been ready to take lives whenever necessary, as long as the reward was good.

"I don't think it's right to just kill this guy," Darik said slowly.

"We're not _just _killing him," Leske said, ignoring the way Darik had spoken. "First, we take back anything he stole and _then _we kill him." Darik made a face at him. "Come on; you can feel bad later."

"Let's make sure this guy really has been cheating out on Beraht before we start spilling blood."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night, my friend."

* * *

They reached the commons of Orzammar after walking the long stretch between it and Dust Town. Dwarves without brands on their faces either pretended they weren't there or were openly hostile to them. Fellow casteless could also be found on the streets, performing the nasty jobs no one else would do; they looked upon Darik and Leske with intrigue since dusters rarely had enough money to purchase anything other than cheap, tasteless meat, let alone full sets of armor and weapons. Only criminals could afford such luxuries.

The commons was where most of the other castes lived and ran businesses. It was nothing like Dust Town, as people actually cared for the well-being and maintenance of it. Shops—including Beraht's, which was not-to-surprisingly close to the road to Dust Town—and stalls set up by the Merchant Caste was the main source of purchasing goods in the city. Surface dwarves, those who somehow managed to make their way into Orzammar, rarely left the commons.

Perhaps the grandest part of the commons was the Proving Grounds: the ancient arena where dwarves would fight to prove themselves to the Ancestors and to the living. Darik had never seen a Proving himself, but Leske had snuck in once and made a big deal about.

Darik saw there was a lot of traffic on the bridge connection the Proving Grounds to the Orzammar Commons. That meant a Proving would be coming up soon. _Perhaps I'll get a chance to see it._

There was only one shop for the casteless—excluding the one in Dust Town itself—as the nobles who ran the city thought that more than plenty. Leske was good friends with Olinda, the vendor for the casteless who was not one herself, but even with the discounted price, not much could be afforded by him or Darik.

Beraht had made it clear that Oskias was still in the city, but hadn't anything more specific than that, leaving Darik and Leske to search for the smuggler themselves. This proved difficult for the dusters, as no one wanted to talk to a casteless. The only dwarf they managed to have a conversation with was too interested in buying their teeth to help them.

They searched for the surface dwarf for over an hour, but failed to find any good information as to his location. Irritated, and a little thirsty, Darik suggested they get something to drink and continue the search later. Leske wasn't up to it until Brosca offered to pay.

Tapster's Tavern was their first choice. And only one; casteless dwarves weren't technically supposed to be served at any bar in Orzammar, but Tapster's was under protection of the Carta. That came with perks, like sneaking a drink or two behind the backs of the city guards for a relatively low price.

The tavern was full that afternoon. Tapster's Tavern had only been open for about a year, yet it was one of, if not the most popular bar in Orzammar. Even nobles, who had their own private taverns in the Diamond Quarter, could often be found lurking among the lower castes. All eyes flew to Darik as he entered Tapster's and then to Leske who came in second. Brosca scowled at them, and lightly tapped his sheathed dagger. Nobody looked at them after that.

He made his way over to the bar and sat down on one of the stools. Leske joined him, looking over his shoulder multiple times to make sure no one was planning on reporting them. _For a man lacking a moral compass, he sure does worry a lot about getting in trouble with the law. _

Frolt, the owner and head bartender of Tapster's Tavern, looked frustrated at having to serve brands. Darik knew he would comply, else risk Beraht hearing about him not serving members of his Carta. _Though if he heard it was me and Leske not getting served, he'd probably laugh then allow it. _

"Two glasses of your finest ale!" Darik told the bartender.

"Just cause your Beraht's men doesn't mean you'll drink for free," Frolt reminded him.

"What I meant to say was 'two glasses of your cheapest, most watered-down ale!'"

Frolt nodded and placed a glass in front of each dwarf. He filled it with a foul-smelling beverage no doubt reserved for any brands that came in and disrupted the peace. Darik was just glad to have something to drink so he slid the man a couple coppers for each mug without complaint.

As they drank, Darik informed Leske about the events that happened inside the hut that morning. Halfway through the tale, an older dwarf with fiery hair that smelled of piss and ale staggered between them and ordered what was likely not his first drink. Frolt must have he would show up as he reached below the bar and brought up a bottle. The drunk handed him some money for it and stumbled towards the back of the tavern.

"And I thought _you _smelt bad," Leske said to Darik.

After a few rounds of ale that tasted like old water, they decided it was time to go back to combing the streets for Oskias. When Frolt came to grab their empty glasses, Darik asked him, "heard of a surfacer named Oskias?"

"Yeah."

A silent pause. "Do you know where he is?"

"Sure do."

He sighed. "Where is he?" Darik asked again, pushing a few more coins the bartender's way.

Frolt pointed to a lone dwarf sitting at a table in the middle of the room. A couple bags lay at his feet; one in particular looked especially heavy. He had a nervous expression on his face and a sword in his belt. Darik could practically sense the smuggler's paranoia coming off of him. _Oskias knows he might have to fight his way out of here. _

Darik thanked Frolt and started towards Oskias. Leske remained in his seat a few seconds longer and whispered something to the bartender. Frolt stiffened and walked away at a steady pace.

"What'd you say to him?" Darik asked.

"Told him that he might want to get a towel or two for when Oskias starts bleeding all over the place."

"We're not gonna hurt him unless he gives us reason to. Follow my lead."

"Yes, Mom," Leske grunted.

They walked over to the table. Darik went around and took a seat across from Oskias while Leske remained standing next to the smuggler, close enough to grab the bags if need be.

"Hey!" Oskias exclaimed. "I was saving that seat!"

"That's real thoughtful, Oskias," Leske said. "It's tiring work looking for you."

It was as if Leske had put the fear of the Ancestors into him. "H-how do you know my name?" Oskias asked.

"Leske, empty his bags." Darik said. "See if the surfacer has anything good on him."

Oskias reached down to take his bags but Leske moved faster. He placed them on the table and started rifling through them one-by-one. Oskias protested all the while. "Hey! You can't just... This is a public place; you got no right... I know people! I'm under the personal protection of Anor Beraht. Try stealing from me and he'll—"

"Who do you think sent us?" Darik sneered.

A look of realization spread over Oskias's face. "Look, I-I've always been loyal to Beraht. He's been good to my family; I-I know how much I owe him," he stammered.

Darik leaned forward. "Screw over people you owe—especially someone like Anor Beraht—and you'll come to regret it. Work with me here; I don't want to hurt you. But I will. Now, why have you been holding out on him?"

"I haven't." Oskias was making an effort not to look Darik in the eyes. "I-I wouldn't."

Darik gestured to Leske, who'd found nothing in the bags and was now standing silently and menacingly. "My friend here has a knack for breaking a person's legs using their own arms. I, however, am great at detecting bullshit. And you're feeding quite a spoonful."

Oskias was quiet for a minute. "I... I do have some lyrium ore. I have a little deal with one of the mining families." He promptly added, "if it worked out, I was gonna bring Beraht his cut, I swear. I'd be crazy not to."

"Suicidal, one might say." Leske chimed in.

"How much ore did you take?" Darik questioned.

Oskias shrugged. "Just a little; maybe twenty-five sovereigns worth—"

"Twenty-five sovereigns?" Leske asked, sounding skeptically.

Darik had only seen the sacred golden coin a few different types over his lifetime. Even silver coins weren't often found in his pocket. Most of the money he'd made doing work for the Carta had gone towards increasing Rica's chance of scoring a noble. He could barely imagine a large pile of sovereigns, or how much he could buy if he ever got his hands on that much money.

"Most of that's with my buyers on the surface," Oskias explained. "I just picked up a few nuggets down here." He coughed loudly. "If I were to... maybe give you a piece, that's a lot of coin. Especially for a dus—someone of your financial standing. Could you, uh, 'forget' to mention this to Beraht?"

"You'd really believe we'd go behind the back of someone as powerful as Beraht?" Leske questioned.

Darik held his hand up to silence Leske. Normally he wouldn't risk getting involved with someone on Beraht's bad side, but after hearing how much money he'd mentioned... "I'm listening," he said.

"I've not got any coin myself. I make that topside. But I do have a couple nuggets. You can have one, sell it, and do with the money what you wish." He flashed Darik what was probably his best salesman smile. "What'd you say?"

He pondered the proposal for a moment. "How 'bout you give me both nuggets, and I'll pretend you weren't here?"

Oskias didn't look happy about losing even more money, but he must have seen his choices were limited. "They're yours if you let me out of here."

"Are you breathing smoke? Beraht'll kill you if he catches you with his lyrium!"

"_Us_, Leske. If he catches _us _with his lyrium. He won't though, cause we're gonna sell it. Did you really think I wouldn't share with my best friend?"

Leske beamed at that. "Well, that's a whole other story. We'd need to sell it before we go back to Beraht. And to someone who won't run to him. Hmm... Tell you what what—cut me in fifty and we'll take it to Olinda. She'll give us a good price, and she refused to do work with the old man so he'll never find out."

"Sounds good to me."

"What happens to me?" Oskias asked tensly.

"I'm gonna kill you." Darik chuckled when Oskias reached for his sword. "Relax. Boy, you're jumpy. I'm killing you... as far as Beraht knows. Got it?"

"Yes. Yes! You've got yourself a deal" Oskias offered his hand. Darik accepted it and shook it firmly. "I'll go back to the surface right now. I'll move to Orlais, to Antiva!"

Darik didn't know what an Orlais or Antiva was. _Perhaps they are thaigs on the surface? _He opened his mouth to ask the surface dwarf, who was currently packing the items Leske had pulled out back into the bags; all the while he was speaking highly of the two Carta members.

Oskias finished off his mug of ale and gave a nod at Darik. "Thank you again! You're as noble as you are strong! May the Ancestors bless your steps!"

He turned to leave but his path was immediately blocked by Leske. "You forgot the lyrium ores."

"Oh. Yes... that I did." He dug into his pockets and retrieved two rock-shaped objects wrapped up in cloth. Oskias held them with care, like one would do to a baby or a deadly concoction in a fragile vial. Gently he lowered them onto the table. "Well, there you are. Can I go now?"

"Just a moment," Darik ordered. He plucked one of the objects and partially uncovered it. Sure enough, the cloth was concealing a small chunk of raw lyrium. The Miner Caste liked to believe that they were the only ones with access to the glowing blue mineral, but Darik had stumbled upon it a few times on the outskirts of Dust Town. Apparently it was mainly used on the surface by mages; for whatever reason that might be was out of Darik's pay grade, so he didn't much care.

With the lyrium ores being confirmed, Darik motioned to Leske to let Oskias go. Leske stepped out of the smuggler's way, and the smuggler raced for the front door as fast as his legs could take him.

"Was that smart?" Leske asked once Oskias was gone. "If Beraht finds out Oskias ran, he'll kill us. He'll make you kill me, then yourself. Then he'll probably stew us and serve us to the poor."

"Should've spoken up when you had the chance," Darik told him. "I'm not gonna chase Oskias to the surface, and I'm sure that you won't either." He stood up and slipped the lyrium ores into his pocket before it started catching wandering eyes.

"We should sell this quick and report back before Beraht starts wondering what's taking so long. We've been gone for nearly two hours." He paused. "Un... unless you think we should give it all to Beraht."

"Why?"

"Beraht's not gonna believe Oskias had nothing on him. He _is _a smuggler, after all. If we had killed him, we would have found some hidden valuables on his corpse."

Darik considered that in his head. "Good point. What we'll do is sell one and give Beraht the other; say it was all Oskias had on him."

"Yeah... He'll probably buy that. If he knew what Oskias was hoarding, he wouldn't have sent us to look right?" He paused again. "Unless he was testing us—"

"Shut up. Let's just get our money and get back to Beraht."

"You're the boss."

* * *

Darik was carrying more money than he had for a long time. Olinda had wanted to buy the lyrium ore for thirty silvers. Not a bad price, but he'd talked her into purchasing it for a whole sovereign. Part of Darik wished he wouldn't have promised half of it to Leske, as he ended up with fifty silvers instead of getting to carry one of the mythical golden coins. _Just as well; if word got out how much money I got, beggars wouldn't stop bothering me till the day I died. _

The money, if he spent it sparingly, would last his family a while; hopefully long enough for Rica to be knocked up by her nobleman. They wouldn't be able to move to the Diamond Quarter until the child was born and was recognized by the father (_aka, if the child's a boy_). But, if the nobleman was plenty wealthy and cared for Rica at least a little bit, he would send her money for the duration of her pregnancy.

He and Leske entered Beraht's shop a little more than two hours after being given the job to find Oskias. The shop was renowned for its high-quality armor and weapons by the public, and privately known to house one of the secret entrances into the hideout of the Carta, which ran extensively under Orzammar. Darik had only seen the hideout once, as he was still an initiate member and not a full-fledged criminal. _Maybe someday, if it doesn't work out with Rica being a noble hunter. Or if I get bored living a life of luxury. _

Beraht was discussing something with his second-in-command, Jarvia. She was casteless like Darik and Leske, but the comparisons stopped there. She was likely the richest casteless dwarf in all of Orzammar, all thanks to the special treatment she got from the boss. Rumor was that she and Beraht were lovers; Darik knew the rumor well, for he'd been the one to start it. That did not mean Jarvia wasn't good at her job. She was quite the vicious bitch, and was always ready to slice some throats, even when the situation didn't call for it. Darik hated her, and the feeling was mutual.

It didn't help that they were cousins.

"The king is old," Beraht said to her. "His rule won't hold much longer."

"Prince Bhelen seems far more sympathetic to our interests than Trian," Jarvia said.

"Bhelen has some tastes of his own that he knows I can provide—" He must have seen the two dwarves he'd sent out hours earlier out the corner of his eye as he said, "we'll finish this later." Beraht and Jarvia both turned to look at Darik and Leske. "It's about time you two showed up. What happened with Oskias?"

"He was smuggling lyrium out of Orzammar. Had contacts within the Miner Caste. And no, he didn't say who." Darik fished the single lyrium ore out of his pocket and handed it to Beraht. "Here it is."

Beraht stared blankly at the rock. "One lousy nugget?" His blank expression turn into one of anger. "You want me to believe that's all he got off with?"

"He said he kept most of it topside," Leske explained. "That was all he had on him."

"Jarvia. Send a dig-troop topside. If Oskias had a hiding spot up there, I want us up our elbows in it."

"As you say!" she shouted attentively. _Kiss arse. _

Beraht's eyes lingered on her for a while—further establishing a romantic relationship of some sort—and eventually returned to Darik. "What happened to Oskias?"

"Killed him," Darik said flatly.

Beraht ran his fingers through his beard. "Very interesting, seeing how my cousin was at Tapster's Tavern this afternoon."

Darik had to force his face from sinking in on itself. He didn't dare turn to check if Leske blew their story through expression alone.

"First of all, he said that two dusters sat at the bar for almost an hour, drinking and rambling on like the scoundrels they no doubt were. Knew they had to be my men, as the only casteless dwarves that can get served there—or anywhere else in the city—are part of the Carta. Since you two smell like ale, amongst other things, I've got a good idea that those two dwarves were you. Am I wrong?"

Darik shook his head, trying to appear as calm as possible.

"Second, he said that the two dwarves—who we've now established were you bastards—started talking to some surfacer. Twitchy guy, clearly hiding something. Something changed hands between you, Brosca, and Oskias. And then the duster sodding stood up and walked out on his own two feet! Does that sound like what I asked? Jarvia, what does that sound like to you?"

"Sounds like some jumped-up face-brands thought they could take a bribe and let him walk free." Jarvia tsked disapprovingly. "That's just not right."

Darik wanted to say "_you're branded just like us_," but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"The lady says it's not right," Beraht said. "You wouldn't disagree with a lady, would you?"

He couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "No I wouldn't. Jarvia, however, I _will _disagree with."

His cousin arched a brow. "Oh? So how do you explain the man you were sent to kill not having to be carried out of Tapster's by a bunch of servants? Did he get over getting stabbed in the heart?" She smiled. "Or are you claiming that Beraht's own flesh and blood lied to him?"

"Cousins lie to each other all the time," Darik said without looking at Jarvia. "But in this case, yours was not. Oskias walked out of Tapster's Tavern of his own free will."

"And why is that?" Beraht asked.

"Because we're not stupid enough to kill Oskias in public! Me and Leske are subtle, unlike some people." Darik made a point of glancing briefly at Jarvia.

Leske chimed in. "Right. I mean, no one's gonna say spit to you, Beraht, but we can't move that free. We needed to get Oskias somewhere private. We took him to the lava sinks behind the miners. You have my personal guarantee that you won't be seeing him again."

Beraht looked closely at both dwarves, likely trying to find any trace of deception, but he found none. "Hmm. I don't like you making me look weak… but it's smart to try to keep the Sword Castes from asking questions. That's why I like you two."

Praise from the leader of the Carta was rare. _Totally meaningless to me, but rare nonetheless. _

Beraht handed Darik a small pouch that jingled as it moved from one dwarf to the other. "For a job well done. Divide it amongst yourselves."

Darik turned to leave, and Leske followed the example, but Beraht cleared his throat. "I got a job for tomorrow. I wasn't planning on giving it to you two... but you handled Oskias efficiently."

Leske looked at Darik and shrugged. Darik was up for it, as it meant more money in his pocket. They turned around again. "What is it?" Darik asked.

"The Noble Caste is hosting a Proving tomorrow. It's in honor of the king's daughter being named the new commander of Orzammar's armies, or something just as dull, before the march into the Deep Roads two days from now. Plus rumor has it that they're also showing off for some Grey Warden who's looking for candidates to drag off to a life of eternal glory. Now, it's not often we get every name fighter in Orzammar lined up like that, and I have certain acquaintances who… take an interest in this sort of thing."

"Gambling on the Provings," Darik guessed.

Beraht nodded. "There's a lot of coin to be made when people get the fever up. Favored fighter's an officer named Mainar, veteran of four darkspawn campaigns. Everd's a long-shot, just got back from a Deep Roads offensive. Some young buck who has all the ladies drooling. I've got a lot of money riding on him. Mine and other people's. I expect to see that eight-to-one pay off. Understand?"

"Crystal-clear."

"The fight only gets announced to contestants themselves… to prevent illegal gambling. So first, you'll have to find Everd, see who he's fighting, and when." He handed Darik a bottle of some sort of clear liquid. "When the name Mainar comes up, I want you to slip this drug into the bastard's water. It'll slow his reflexes, just enough to take the edge off, not enough to show. But it wears off quickly, so don't use it until just before his fight."

"Sounds simple enough," Leske said.

"You'll get a pass to enter the Proving Ground tomorrow at eleven; the first fight is at noon." He scowled. "Don't even think about screwing this up. When I say I have coin on this, I'm not talking about some pittance, like the value of your life. If I don't see Everd's name on the winner's sheet, you'd better make sure I never see you two, or your sister, ever again."

"Got it," Darik barely said without clenching his teeth. He didn't care about any threats on his own life, but one on Rica's was enough to get him going.

"Now get out over here. It doesn't bode well to have casteless in my shop."

Darik and Leske proceeded towards the exit. Brosca looked back at the two highest-ranking members of the Carta only one. And once proved quite enough, thanks to the sneer on Jarvia's face.

* * *

_Author's note: Wow. This ended up really long. Not that I have a problem with that (and hopefully neither do you), but I just expected a bit less. Anyways, I would really appreciate it if you could leave a review if you enjoyed the first of many chapters and have the time to. Following and favoriting works too. And if you see any typos/grammatical errors, could you please let me know in a private message or in your review? I don't have a beta-reader, and I'm horrible at proofreading._


	2. The Life of a Princess

_I had to change the way the Dwarf Noble Origin went on to better fit my story. Since this is an alternate universe, expect it to happen a lot._

* * *

**THE LIFE OF A PRINCESS**

**Elezabeth**

Elezabeth Aeducan was finishing the final touches on her armor when there was a knock on her bedroom door. The servant that was simultaneously doing her hair paused. "Do you want me to get that for you, your Highness?"

She nodded. "You may."

The servant laid down the brush and hurried across the chambers. Elezabeth did not turn to see who was at the door as she was busy examining herself in the mirror. The only makeup she had on was a dark red lipstick, as no more was needed to accent her natural beauty. Her curly, dirty blond hair that she usually had tied into a ponytail now rested on either shoulder. The iron armor she was wearing had belonged to her grandmother, though had she been preparing for battle rather than a meeting of the Noble Caste, she'd have put on her heavy silverite equipment instead.

Her most mesmerizing feature were her eyes. Her left eye was a deep blue often compared to lyrium, while her right eye was as brown as the earth itself. Elezabeth never wore eye shadow in fear of losing the glances she gained from her rare trait. The Shaperate had it recorded that the last and only other Aeducan to have been born with such eyes was Paragon Aeducan himself. Many people, including Elezabeth herself, claimed that meant she'd been favored by the Ancestors even before her life began.

From behind her, she heard the door finally open. She suspected who it was before hearing his voice confirmed it. "I've come to retrieve the Lady Aeducan."

"Right this way, sir."

In the mirror, Elezabeth saw her young servant reappear. Just behind her was Elezabeth's second, Gorim Saelac. He, too, was adorned in iron armor, though it was not as prestigious or old as hers. His iron sword and shield—both gifts from Elezabeth, though official from "House Aeducan"—hung on him well. He kept his red hair short and neat and his beard not unkempt, unlike most dwarves not belonging to the Noble Caste. His light blue eyes captured a room without any effort.

They'd captured her heart, back when they were considered little more than children. A romantic relationship between them would have been frowned upon by her peers, as Elezabeth had nothing to gain from mating with a member of the lower castes, unlike men who sought out noble hunters. For that reason, the love they shared was a secret to all but each other.

One of Elezabeth's fondest memories came to mind as she looked at Gorim, standing behind her with a smile stretching from ear-to-ear. It was of the night of her twenty-first name day, which was only about a month from today. It was the night she gave her maidenhood to Gorim, who had never slept with anyone before either. _A warrior with hands as gentle as his had not existed before him._

Since then they had only slept together one another time. Elezabeth would have liked to do it more, but with each tumble in bed the chances of becoming pregnant became greater and greater. Mothering a warrior's child would be scandalous and give House Aeducan a bad name. As much as she loved Gorim, she refused to threaten her family's chances of staying on the throne. Piotin Aeducan, her cousin and member of the Warrior Caste, was proof enough of what resulted in a child birthed by royalty and anything less than Noble Caste.

As her servant continued to brush her hair, Gorim addressed her with a formal voice required to keep their love in the dark. "Greetings, my lady. You are dressed and almost ready to go. Excellent." He presented a dull-looking iron blade and a similar shield. "I couldn't find your grandmother's armor's matching dagger in the armory, but these belonged to one of your great-uncles."

"That will work," Elezabeth said in an equally-official voice.

The servant stopped brushing. "I am finished with your hair, your Highness. Is there anything else you require of me?"

"No, that will be all. You're free to leave." Elezabeth let slip a small smile as she added, "shut the door behind you when you leave."

The servant curtsied and did as she was directed. Gorim waited a few seconds after the door had closed before moving closer to Elezabeth. He placed the sword and shield on the dresser in front of her, leaving his hands free to caress her face.

At last she turned in her chair to face him directly. "I was hoping I would get to see you before the feast."

"And why would you not," Gorim asked, "my Paragon of Beauty?"

Elezabeth scoffed. "'Paragon of Beauty' my arse. Look at this." She gestured to her armor. "The deshyrs have seen me in my silverite before. I cannot fathom why my father would have me wear this instead; or, at the very least, my own sword and shield."

"Perhaps your father wishes to start a tradition? This was the armor your grandmother wore when Ansgar Aeducan ascended to the throne." He shrugged. "Maybe your child will wear one of your parents' set of armor, when he or she makes something of themselves. Besides..." he leaned in and kissed her. "Your beauty cannot be suppressed by something as trivial as hideous armor."

"Sometimes I think you know my family's history better than I," Elezabeth said with a smile. "And why would my child wear my armor? Commander of Orzammar's armies is a grand title, but not as grand as being Queen of Orzammar."

"You know as well as I that the Assembly will likely vote for you to take the throne instead of Trian when King Endrin returns to the Stone."

She did. Trian was popular enough, and he was the eldest child, but many nobles and members of the other castes were not fans of him. His temper was short and he was often rude to those he considered were beneath him. Elezabeth giggled to herself; _Trian thinks everyone beneath him. _He was a great warrior indeed, but the same could be said for all the Aeducans.

Elezabeth, on the other hand, was beloved by Orzammar. She treated all members of society with the respect they deserved. _Other than the casteless, of course. _Donations were regularly made by her to families in need. And though all the children of Endrin Aeducan had been privately trained by several of the more esteemed members of the Warrior Caste, Elezabeth had been trained by Gerolt Saelec: Gorim's father, and her father's second before his passing. Her outings with the Warrior Caste had given her plenty of enemies to fight and test her skills in the form of darkspawn. _And I think I'd be a better queen than he a king._

Bhelen, her younger and better-tempered brother, was the least popular Aeducan. Not because he necessarily did anything ill-noted, but because his stance on the casteless was different than most of Orzammar's, and that made him disliked, though not outright-hated by the people. Elezabeth certainly liked him more than Trian, if only because he wasn't worried about her taking "his" seat on the throne.

But she did not like speaking poorly about any of her family. So instead she neutrally said, "the Ancestors will determine who is better fitted to run the city."

"And I'm sure they'll pick well," Gorim said with a wink. "Anyways, the King expects you to make an appearance at the feast, but it does not start until eleven o' clock; that gives us an hour before you'll need to go to the throne room. Most of the deshyrs and other nobles that were invited will likely show up early to brag about how much they are better than each other. At noon, as you know, begins the tournament in your honor at the Proving Grounds. Lord Harrowmont is giving young warriors a chance to test their mettle before tomorrow's battle."

Elezabeth nodded. The battle would be the first test of her ability to command an army. The front lines had apparently seen little darkspawn in the last few weeks, and her father, King Endrin Aeducan, was ready to take advantage of that. Elezabeth, leading a portion of Orzammar's army, would go in and clear out several mines lost to the darkspawn during the reign of her grandfather, mines not too far from Aeducan Thaig, which had only been rediscovered relatively recently.

And, if things went well, she would undertake a secret mission to uncover the Shield of Aeducan, which had belonged to Paragon Aeducan. Better still would be if she could retake Aeducan Thaig. _The Assembly would make me a Paragon if I succeed._

"Rumor has it Harrowmont hopes you'll be swept off your feet if a well-placed nobleman wins the Provings," Gorim said. "From his house, of course.

Squeezing Gorim's hand, Elezabeth asked, "should we tell him I already have all the man I need?"

Gorim laughed at that. "Why not? I'll just wear a sign that says, 'assassinate me before Lady Aeducan marries beneath her.'"

She rose from her chair and scooted as close to Gorim as possible. "An hour, you say?" She wrapped her arms around him. "How do you think we should spend that time?"

"Well, as part of the celebrations, permits have been auctioned off to members of the Merchant Caste who wished to sell their wares here in the Diamond Quarter. We could go check that out," Gorim said teasingly, "like your brothers have."

"I was thinking of something that involved us staying in the room. And definitely nothing my brothers' can do."

"As much fun as that sounds, I don't think that we have enough time to tumble under the sheets and get you prepared for the feast. Not without the help of a servant, and servants can have loose lips if a sovereign gets thrown their way." Gorim winked. "Perhaps after the feast?"

"I'll hold you to it."

Releasing her hold on him, Elezabeth picked up the iron sword he'd brought her and slid it into her sheath. Then she lifted the shield and strapped it to her back with some help from Gorim. Her ensemble now completed, she said to him, "I guess we should go see these merchants... and try to avoid Trian in the process."

Gorim bowed. "With you as always, my lady."

* * *

As they passed by Bhelen's room, the door to it began to be opened from the inside. This confused Elezabeth, as Gorim had told her both of her brothers were out perusing the Merchant Caste's goods in the Diamond Quarter. But when the door was completely ajar, it wasn't an Aeducan in the doorway. It was a small red-haired dwarf, maybe in her late-twenties, with the brand of a casteless woman under her right eye.

"My lord Bhelen?" the dwarf had asked before she could see Elezabeth or Gorim. She widened her eyes in surprise once she saw she had the wrong Aeducan. "I am sorry your Highness. I... I'm sorry. I thought you were Prince Bhelen coming down the hall. I... forgive me."

She attempted to scurry away, but Elezabeth wouldn't have it. "Who are you, and why were you in my brother's _private_ bedroom?"

Shy as the duster was, she stood her ground. "M-my name is Rica. Rica Brosca. I was in your bro-Prince Bhelen's room because... because I—"

Gorim cleared his throat rather loudly, interrupting the brand. "It seems she's one of your brother's newest... um, 'companions.'" He looked at the duster. "Prince Bhelen is out in the Diamond Quarter with Prince Trian, and will later be attending a feast being held in Princess Elezabeth's honor."

"Yes, of... of course. It was presumptuous of me to think that he would return to—I am sorry." She stared uneasily at Elezabeth. "I will show myself out, with your leave, my lady."

Elezabeth was all too happy to get the casteless dwarf out of her sight. "Yes. You may go." Rica moved quickly down the hallway, but before she disappeared around the corner, Elezabeth added, "try to stay by my brother's side at all times, if you ever find yourself here again."

"Yes, my lady."

And with that, Rica was gone.

Gorim chuckled once he and Elezabeth started walking again. "It appears Bhelen found himself a noble hunter."

"He wants to taint the Aeducan line with the blood of someone rejected by the Stone!" Elezabeth couldn't believe her brother could be so naïve. "What is he thinking?"

"Probably what all men who seek out noble hunters think: Orzammar is getting smaller every day. More dwarves need to be born if we wish to still exist generations from now. Any child they might conceive would be royalty like you, and would be recognized by his Ancestors and by the Stone."

"Unless he fathers a daughter." Elezabeth grimaced at the thought of that. "Then he will bring shame onto all of House Aeducan."

"I guess only time will tell."

The guards posted at the palace doors opened them for Princess Elezabeth and her second. They stepped out into the Diamond Quarter, home of all the Noble Caste and the Shaperate. The Diamond Quarter was smaller than most other parts of Orzammar since the Noble Caste was the smallest of all the castes. That meant more time and more effort had gone into making it the most beautiful section of the city. Elezabeth enjoyed the peaceful bliss of the Diamond Quarter, but even she could not stay here on a regular basis, unlike most of the nobles she knew; the Deep Roads was where the action happened, and as often as she could manage, Elezabeth would be out there fighting alongside the best of the Warrior Caste.

Almost directly outside the palace, and in front of Elezabeth and Gorim, were two dwarves involved in a heated debate. The one on her left, who shouted more than talked, she recognized as Brutin Vollney, a loud-mouthed and self-righteous member of House Vollney, one of the minor noble castes. Who Brutin was arguing with she did not know, but he wore the robes and had the mannerisms a Shaperate scholar.

"I'm sure we can work this out reasonably," said the scholar. "It's in the records. There's nothing I can do! Please, Mister Vollney, my work is accredited by the Shaper!"

"Your work is merely lies written by the enemies of House Vollney!"

"I write only what I find in the ancient records!"

Elezabeth strolled over to the dwarves, hoping to diffuse the situation before violence broke out on today of all days. Brutin groaned when she appeared, while the scholar looked happier than ever.

"Lady Aeducan! You can vouch for my work, can't you?" the scholar asked. "Your father loved my _History of Aeducan: Paragon, King, Peacemaker!_"

"Ah." She recalled the author of that book—a personal favorite of hers—to be a scholar by the name of Gertek. Having a name to put to the face, she added, "I greatly enjoyed your book as well, Gertek; I have a copy of it in my personal library."

Brutin pointed at the scholar as if he were a duster. "This... worm has written a book that slanders my house! He deserves to die for what he has written of Paragon Vollney!"

Though Brutin had no reason to lie, Elezabeth decided to investigate further, not wanting a possibly innocent man to be wrongly condemned. "That's a serious charge. What exactly has he written, Brutin?"

"He says that Paragon Vollney—known throughout the world as the greatest of men—was a fraud."

Elezabeth had to keep herself from laughing at that. With a straight face, she gestured to Gertek to give his side of the story, which turned out to be more of a history lesson.

"N-not precisely. When the Assembly names a Paragon, that man or woman is then, by definition, everything one can aspire to be in the world. They form their own houses, and are revered as living Ancestors. But Paragons start off as men."

"Vollney was more than a man!"

Elezabeth sighed. "Brutin, you're acting like a fool."

"Am I? Would you allow this coward to slander _your _Ancestors?"

Gertek snapped, obviously fed up with the name-calling. "I have written no slander! Vollney became a Paragon by the narrowest margin in history—one vote. A vote mired in rumors of intimidation, intrigue, and outright bribery. The records of that vote are kept in the Shaperate and are a matter of fact. Not liking history doesn't make it any less true! "

"This scholar could teach you a thing or two, Brutin," Elezabeth told him.

"You're taking his side?" Brutin asked. "What if he published a book like this about your Paragon Aeducan?"

"Impossible," Elezabeth said. "Paragon Aeducan had only one deshyr not vote for him, and that man was killed and had his name stripped from history by the Shaper of Memories himself. He could not be any more different than your Ancestor."

"You dare disparage Paragon Vollney!"

She pressed her chest against Vollney's. She was just as tall as him, being at the average height of male dwarves. And even in her armor, anyone could see Elezabeth Aeducan was quite muscular, even by Warrior Caste standards.

"I dare."

Brutin stared daggers at her, but she'd mastered the art of cold expressions at a young age. Her different colored eyes could be made intimidating when she needed them to be.

"You've made a huge mistake," he said before stalking deeper into the Diamond Quarter.

Gorim sniffed. "That fool has no idea how weak his house is or how low he sits in it." He looked to Elezabeth. "Shall I have him killed, my lady?"

Elezabeth considered it. At last she shook her head. "He's not worth a blade."

"As you say."

"You've shown House Aeducan a friend to research, history, and the glory of our people," Gertek said merrily.

"You'd do well not to walk alone when passing the residence of House Vollney for a while," Elezabeth said. "Brutin's temper tantrum will blow over eventually."

"Of course." He bowed respectively. "Good day, your Highness, and thank you."

* * *

After running into a casteless dwarf inside the royal palace and dealing with a hot-headed dwarf, Elezabeth found bliss in walking amongst the vendors of the Merchant Caste. Her House had official servants to buy everything that they would ever need, so it was a nice change of pace to be able to pick and choose for herself.

Practically every sort of ware that could be sold was available in the Diamond Quarter that day. Everything ranging from armor, weaponry, fine clothing, and exquisite foods made both below and above the surface was laid out for the picking.

She wished she'd have brought her own money. Some of the silks she found were so beautiful and soft that it was hard for her not to just run off with them. Elezabeth _could _have charged the purchase to House Aeducan and promised the merchants their pay later, but Trian had a tendency to throw men and women in jail if they came around demanding money. Gorim offered to pay for the dress she'd had her eyes on, but she wouldn't allow it. It wasn't right for him to buy her things when she had much more money than he did.

"It's not about the money," Gorim whispered in her ear when Elezabeth rejected his coin. "I just want you to be happy."

"I already am." If she were the risk-taking type, she would have added a peck on the cheek after that. But she wasn't, so she didn't.

Elezabeth was having such a great time with Gorim that she wasn't all too surprised that Trian's sudden appearance ruined it. She'd forgotten that he and Bhelen had also decided to check out the wares, but remembered as soon as she saw her elder and younger brothers coming towards her. They had blond hair like her, though Bhelen's was a little darker and Trian's a little lighter. Trian wore his hair long and proud while Bhelen preferred style even shorter than that of Gorim's. Their beards, more or less the same length, though Trian had more braids in his. The crown-prince sported a suit of silverite armor not unlike Elezabeth's own, much to her annoyance, while the youngest Aeducan had on a set of lesser, but still well-made, red steel armor instead.

Bhelen was the first to speak. "_Atrast vala_, Elezabeth! How surprising to run into you among the common folk."

"Though not surprising to find you in the same place, little brother," Elezabeth said moderately. "I ran into a casteless woman coming out of your room not even twenty minutes ago."

Trian glared at the younger of his two siblings. "You're still going after that duster? Do you want House Aeducan to be the laughing stock of Orzammar?"

For once, Elezabeth agreed with him.

"Rica is a beautiful and talented woman. It's not her fault that she was born casteless." Bhelen folded his arms across his chest. "Neither of you have children. I am the only one doing my duty as an Aeducan to continue our line."

Elezabeth could see his point. "Well... at least you have good reason for engaging with a noble hunter."

Trian, however, could not, or refused to. "There are plenty of women from our own caste that would kill to have an Aeducan child. Were none of them good enough for you?" Before Bhelen could defend himself, Trian quickly turned his attention to Elezabeth and started ranting at her. "Should you not already be at the feast? A feast, mind you, that Father had arranged in _your_ honor."

"The feast does not begin until eleven, Prince Trian," Gorim said. "Lord Harrowmont told me that we'd not need to show up until—"

"Silence!" shouted Trian. "If I want the opinion of my sister's second, I will ask for it."

"Yes, your Highness," Gorim said through gritted teeth.

Refusing to see her boyfriend harassed in such a way, Elezabeth said, "do not ever speak to him like that again, Trian," she said.

"I can speak to anyone however I wish." Trian puffed out his chest, though it failed to intimidate Elezabeth. "You will not forget who will be king when Father returns to the stone."

_Not if the Assembly has its way. _"And you will not forget who commands Orzammar's armies _today_," Elezabeth said.

Trian sneered. "Not for long. I expect after tomorrow I'll spend much time apologizing to the heads of the Noble and Warrior Houses for the deaths of their children under your incompetent command. Father will realize his mistake soon enough."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it, Trian?" Bhelen asked.

"The truth is often harsh, Bhelen; that doesn't make it any less true."

Elezabeth suppressed a smile. She thought it funny that his words were somewhat similar to that of the scholar Gertek's.

Trian returned to Elezabeth. "If I am to be forced to attend the feast, you most certainly must be as well. Go. Now."

Elezabeth frowned, her hidden smile now nonexistent. "I will go when I please, and not a second sooner."

By this point, she could tell that Trian was pissed. Not that she cared. Bhelen, who stood slightly behind their shared brother, was clearly trying his best not to laugh. Elezabeth had always felt a little sorry for him being Trian's second, as that was a job she would flat out refuse to do.

Trian took a step forward. "I'd advise you to watch that tongue, dear sister. Father will not live forever." He moved past her and started down the street towards the royal palace. "Come, Bhelen," he said in his stern 'I'm-not-asking' voice.

Bhelen shrugged. "See you later, 'Beth." He hurried to catch up to Trian, who was stomping his feet as he walked like a child not getting his way.

Elezabeth and Gorim quietly watched them walk away. It wasn't until they were gone that the silence was broken. "That was fun," Gorim said. "Nothing like being talked down to by the next king."

"I'm sorry about what he said to you."

"I'm sorry you're related to him."

Elezabeth giggled. "As am I, Gorim. As am I."

* * *

At quarter-till-eleven, Elezabeth Aeducan and Gorim Saedac made their appearance in the throne room. The room was already packed with all the deshyrs of the Assembly and other noteworthy nobles who had been invited to partake in the feast; most of them Elezabeth did not recognize, as she liked to stay out of the dangerous world of politics as much as she could. Mountains of food and drink had already been set out on the dining tables, though no one dared consume any until King Endrin allowed it.

Elezabeth rested her hand on her new dagger, hanging loosely from her belt. It was the only keepsake she'd come away with from all any of the merchants in the Diamond Quarter. It was a well-crafted blade, but the dagger's merit came from the lightning enchantment it had. She'd gotten it for free, as the merchant knew that her being seen with one of his wares would fill his pockets with gold in no time.

She picked out familiar faces as she looked around the throne room. Trian and Bhelen were near the throne, discussing something with Lord Pyral Harrowmont, High-General of Orzammar and her father's second. Located in the center of the room was Lady Helmi, one of her late mother's closest friends.

Despite Elezabeth not being acquainted with most every dwarf in the room, a couple of men she was certain she'd never met before. She knew this because they were humans. Normally humans that visited the city were not permitted to leave the Orzammar Commons; exceptions were only ever made for notable humans.

Judging by these humans' armor and weapons, and the fact that members of her own race almost seemed to be lining up to talk to them, she guessed them to be Grey Wardens: surfacers sworn to fight the darkspawn. Similar to the Legion of the Dead in that their duty was one that ended only in death; in the Legion's case, their _second _death. Past Aeducans had found honor joining their ranks, so she like many dwarves greatly respected them. The Grey Wardens were unlike many organizations because they accepted people of any origin and of any race. If going to the surface did not make her lose her connection to the Stone and the Ancestors, she would join them in a heartbeat.

_What are the Grey Wardens doing here? _Wardens were notorious for being found scouting out the Deep Roads, but they didn't frequent Orzammar nearly as often. She thought perhaps they'd come to undergo the Calling, a Grey Warden tradition where old Wardens would delve into the Deep Roads and take out as many darkspawn before falling to their blades. Why they opted to take this route was a secret known only to the Grey Wardens, but the celebrations prior to their sacrifices were always a blast. But of the seven or eight Wardens, only one—who also seemed to be the leader—looked much older than forty.

Try as she might to mingle with her fellow nobles, her eyes always drifted back to the group of Grey Wardens. She'd spoken with humans before, such as the previous king of Fereldan, Maric Theirin, when she was a child and other important men and women from the surface. But these were _Grey Wardens_, and according to her father, their numbers were declining due to a surfacer conception that the darkspawn were eradicated completely. Who knows when she'd get another chance to speak to one, if only for a moment?

Not long before the clock in the throne room would read elven, and the feast would begin, Elezabeth succumbed to her curiosity. Walking away from a dull conversation with Lord Ronus Dace about surface dwarves, she and Gorim found themselves in front of the leader of the Wardens. He was a man who looked near the age of fifty, but still had the body of a healthy and able-bodied warrior. His beard was thick enough that it would fit well on a dwarf's face, even with the strands of grey that could be seen. Compared to the fair-skinned complexion almost all dwarves shared, this human's skin was rather dark.

Much to Elezabeth's delight, the Warden smiled briefly when she stopped in front of him. He bowed and addressed her with a strong, confident voice. "Greetings, my Lady Aeducan. When I learned this feast was made for you, I had hoped to meet you myself. This is an honor."

Elezabeth offered the human her hand. He shook it firmly. "The honor is mine, Warden," she said.

"You may call me 'Duncan' if you prefer," the Warden said. "I had the opportunity to meet with your father when the Wardens and I arrived this morning. He speaks highly of you; he says you may be the most skilled warrior in all of House Aeducan."

"My father honors me," Elezabeth said. Not wanting to appear too bashful, she added, "though there is a reason he picked me to become Orzammar's newest commander and not one of my brothers."

Duncan nodded. "That I have no doubt of." He sighed. "We need more Grey Wardens like you. Dwarves have the most experience of all races when it comes to fighting darkspawn, yet these days few Join us. In previous times, this was but a mere inconvenience. But now, it is a problem."

"Why is that?" Elezabeth asked.

"Tomorrow's battle has been made possible by the lack of darkspawn in the Deep Roads, I assume?"

"It is."

"The Deep Roads, though far from empty, are clear than they have been in four hundred years because the darkspawn now plague the surface." He paused, as if he did not want to say anything else. But he did. "A Blight has begun. Soon the fight must go beyond the Deep Roads, lest the darkspawn threaten all the world."

Confused, Elezabeth asked, "if a Blight has begun, why are you and these other Wardens here, _under _the surface?"

"As I said, dwarves are a major asset when it comes to fighting the darkspawn. We've come to recruit any and all dwarves we think might be able to Join the Grey Wardens."

Elezabeth smiled. "Well Duncan, you couldn't have picked a better time to come to Orzammar. Today at noon there'll be a Proving in honor of my promotion. The best of the Noble and Warrior Castes will be fighting today. Whoever the Ancestors show favor to is someone that you'll want on your side against the wretched Blighters."

"That is a good idea, your Highness. I hope you won't mind if I claim it as my own," Duncan said with a small smile. "Shall you be fighting in the Proving?"

She shook her head. "I'll be up half the night sorting out the battle plans for tomorrow. I'd rather not do that with a bunch of aches and pains."

"That is wise."

"Would you and your men like to sit with the Noble Caste at the Proving Grounds?"

Elezabeth could see the other Wardens would like that, but Duncan dashed their hopes. "I thank you for the offer, but the Grey Wardens have their own private section closer to the arena itself."

"Oh." She found herself strangely saddened by that. But she refused to let her show it. "I must get going. My father is to officially name me 'commander' before the feast begins."

"Well met," Duncan said.

Elezabeth and Gorim turned and headed towards the throne. Gorim discreetly nudged her. "You seemed to like him a lot."

"Do I detect a jealous tone?"

"If you do, it must be from Trian. He won't admit it, but he knows you've got just as good, if not a better chance of ruling Orzammar. Being made commander of Orzammar will only bolster your support in the Assembly."

At that moment the clock in the heart of the throne room rang eleven times. The numerous conversations that had been going on were no longer by the end of the last gong. The nobles and deshyrs, including her brothers, and the Grey Wardens converged in front of the throne. Even Gorim had to leave her side, else make it seem he thought himself better than the Noble Caste. Elezabeth stood alone between the group of nobles and her father, King Endrin.

King Endrin's robes were much fancier than those belonging to the Shaperate, for obvious reasons. He was strong enough to equip armor, but rarely did so. He'd stopped wearing his heavy crown once the last of his hair had turned from dark blond to silver. Anyone could see bits of Trian and Bhelen in the king's face, but the only thing he and Elezabeth shared were the blueness of their eyes—in her case, _eye_—as she was a spitting image of her mother. His beard mostly hid his proud grin; many nobles considered her the favorite of his children. She hadn't thought so until he announced she would become a Commander. _If I really were his favorite, he would name me his heir, not Trian. _

The king did not have to raise his voice to be heard, as no one would think of speaking over him. "_Atrast vala_, my daughter. How fine you look in your grandmother's armor. She and all the Ancestors watch over you proudly." He looked up at the group of nobles. "Lord, Ladies, I thank you for granting me a moment of your time. We are here today so I may present to you Elezabeth Aeducan, my second eldest child: blessed by the Stone and born of the blood and eyes of the Paragon Aeducan. Who would pose a question to the prospective commander? Who seeks to know her better?"

She looked over her shoulder. No one stepped forward. Lord Ronus Dace looked like might, but apparently decided not to.

"No?" King Endrin paused, giving the nobles one last chance to speak. "Very well then." He returned his eyes onto Elezabeth. "My daughter, do you swear by the Stone and to the Ancestors that you will command Orzammar to the fullest of your capabilities?"

"I swear," she said loudly.

"Do you swear that you will fight Orzammar's enemies wherever they might lurk?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to prove yourself worthy of the name Aeducan?"

"I swear."

"Then I, Endrin Aeducan, son of Ansgar Aeducan and King of Orzammar, shall have you bestowed with the title of commander."

A roar of applause came from the nobles. Congratulatory cheers, a few whistles, and a lot of clapping. Elezabeth faced them all and bowed, just like she had practiced many times in the privacy of her chambers. Gorim, who was at the head of the group, was roaring the loudest. Not too far from him were Bhelen and Trian. Bhelen was clapping lightly with smile upon his face, while Trian simply glared at her. She took it, knowing full well that he would kill to be in her spot.

"Tomorrow, our newest commander will lead part of a mission to strike a great blow to the darkspawn," King Endrin said once the applause died down. "Not only does this recover access to some of our most important mines, but it also allows our honored guest Duncan, head of Fereldan's Grey Wardens, to strike far into the Deep Roads."

Duncan waved from within the crowd. It was unnecessary, as he was the tallest person in the room besides the other humans.

"We are honored to have you with us, my friend." He now addressed all who stood before him. "You all may now feast and drink, but do so quickly. The Provings begin at noon, and I expect all of you to be there."

And with that, the large group dispersed to the tables. Only Gorim resisted the urge to charge at the free food and drink, choosing to join Elezabeth in front of the throne instead.

"Gorim," said King Endrin, "you have yet to have failed my daughter. Make sure that tomorrow is no different."

"It will not be, your Majesty," Gorim said.

"Good." He looked at Elezabeth. "Lord Harrowmont—and I, to an extent—hope that with your announcement as commander, and after tomorrow's hopeful success, marriage proposals will begin piling up outside the palace. You can have your pick of a husband, though a strong alliance would be preferred."

"That's... good news," she said with as much false enthusiasm as she could muster. She dared not look at Gorim, who she would marry if it were allowed, in fear of exposing their love.

"You two may go eat," King Endrin said. "Make sure that you don't fill to bursting and end up missing the Provings. Perhaps the Provings will be recorded as the best Orzammar has ever seen."

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks to Sphinxes, Apollo Wings, and Pandaman320 for review on the first chapter, and to everyone else who gave "The Dwarves of Grey" a favorite and a follow._

_I am considering having all origins appear in my story, though I am still on the fence about it. If you have an opinion on that matter, let me know in a review or private message. If I do end up doing all origins, the main focus will still be on Darik and Elezabeth._

_Please show your support by reviewing this chapter. And if you see any spelling/grammatical errors, please let me know. I am a terrible editor!_


	3. The First Recruit

**THE FIRST RECRUIT**

**Darik**

"By the Stone!" Leske exclaimed. "I've never seen so many humans at once!"

Darik followed Leske's finger to the entrance of the Proving Grounds. Sure enough, a group of seven humans, all of them male, were coming through the doors. Darik knew they had to be humans respected by Orzammar, as surfacers weren't normally allowed out of the commons. Given the assortment of armor and weapons the humans had, he guessed them to be members of some sort of army. One wore robes and carried a long stick, making him stick out even more so than any of the other humans.

He watched the humans walk through the Proving Grounds from the dark corner he and Leske occupied. They'd been watching the comings and goings of participants and spectators of today's Provings for a little longer than half an hour. Beraht's pass had gotten them into the Grounds easily enough, but they were casteless, and casteless weren't allowed to be a part of the Provings in any way whatsoever.

Why Beraht had them get there so early, Darik didn't know. Everd Bera, the warrior that Beraht had his money on, hadn't shown up yet. If he didn't get here by noon, he would be disqualified, and Beraht would be out an extravagant amount of money.

The humans attracted a lot of attention from nearby dwarves. The leader of said humans, a dark-skinned older man with ornate leathers and steel, did most of the talking. He mentioned multiple times that he would be recruiting a promising warrior today, possibly the winner of the Proving. That made Darik laugh to himself; Everd might end up the newest addition to some surface army because of Beraht's interest in him.

"What kind of human army recruits dwarves?" Darik asked his friend.

"They might be Grey Wardens."

"Oh." That made sense. Grey Wardens killed darkspawn, though whatever else they were renowned for was not known by Darik. A member of the Warrior or Noble Caste, especially one that's actually been in the Deep Roads, would be a good pick if the Wardens needed a dwarf.

Above each door that went down into the combatants' quarters was a clock. Darik anxiously glanced at the nearest one. It read eleven thirty-eight. In about twenty minutes, the Provings in honor of Orzammar's newest commander would begin, and their warrior was still a no show.

"You don't think Beraht would blame us if Everd doesn't even make it to his first fight, do ya?"

Leske chuckled nervously. "I'm sure he'd take more than our hides."

"Are you sure that Everd isn't here?"

"Beraht told me that Everd should have gotten here a little after eleven."

Darik scowled. "He did? Bastard never tells me anything. You'd think he'd be more forthcoming with information, what with him putting so much time and effort into _my _sister." He came off the wall he'd been leaning on long enough that his shoulder was sore. "C'mon. Considering our luck, Everd's been here longer than us."

Leske nodded and started towards the nearest hallway to the combatants' quarters. Darik, however, hesitated when his eyes fell onto the Grey Wardens again. Everyone in Dust Town that could hold a sword knew the Grey Wardens accepted recruits of all sorts, even brands. Though he'd never fought the darkspawn, he considered himself an expert in combat. _Surely the darkspawn couldn't be that much different to fight. _

He took a step in their direction and stopped. Something kept him from taking another one. In the back of his mind, he remembered that Rica had found herself a noble. Giving him a son would move her, and the rest of her family, to the Diamond Quarter. Leaving now, if the Wardens would even take him, would mean he'd have to go to the surface.

He couldn't leave Rica alone in Orzammar, if her noble dumped her or she had a daughter. He couldn't leave her alone to face Beraht's wrath. And he certainly couldn't leave her alone with Mother.

"Are ya coming or not?" Leske asked in a loud whisper, not wanting to draw attention to either of them.

Darik sighed. "Yeah, I'm coming."

* * *

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Sneaking down to and through the combatants' quarters had been easier done than said, rather than the other way around. Even Leske, who'd been trained as a warrior and not a rogue, had commented on the ease of doing so. Many of the participants in today's Provings were getting ready for their bouts in their private rooms; and those that weren't were too busy bragging about themselves as the dwarf "the Ancestors would show favor for."

Everd's was one of the closer rooms to the passageway between the quarters and the top floor of the Proving Grounds, making Darik and Leske's sneaking session much easier. The door had been locked, and there'd been a muffled voice inside the room, more-or-less confirming that the young warrior was inside, and had been there before the casteless dwarves had shown up.

Picking the lock on the door had practically been effortless. Darik almost laughed when he heard the almost-inaudible click merely a minute into rotating the tumblers in the door. He knew that the lack of security stemmed from the dwarven belief that no one would dare tempt angering the Ancestors by violating the Proving Grounds' rules. Casteless as he was, he personally had no Ancestors to anger.

Perhaps it was this defiance to the Ancestors and to the Stone that resulted in them finding Everd lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling from the middle of his room. The blond dwarf, who couldn't have been more than a couple years older than Darik, had a shattered bottle of ale on the ground next to him; the ground and Everd were dry, so the bottle had to have been empty prior to being destroyed. Though his glassy eyes were open and he was mumbling incoherently, he was clearly not in his right state-of-mind.

Leske kneeled down next to him. "Sod it! He's stone drunk!"

"Did you really have to get closer to see that?"

His comment was ignored by his agitated friend. "He was probably trying to take the edge off. Boss said that most people expect him to lose in his first fight, let alone make it to Mainar and then lose." He stood back up. "Beraht's not gonna like this, not after the way we handled Oskias."

"Beraht doesn't suspect anything about Oskias," Darik said.

"Even so, he doesn't like how we went against his plan." Leske tapped his foot against the dwarf. "_This _is going to push him over the edge. He and his associates put money on this bastard, and now we're going to have to pay for it."

Darik's thoughts went back to the Grey Wardens. If there was ever a time to beg them to take him and his family to the surface, it was now.

But Leske wouldn't have it. "There's a way to get out of this ahead, but it'll be risky."

Darik was uneasy, as Leske was as much the brains of their two-man operation as he was the brawns. "What'd you have in mind?"

Leske pointed at the armor stand—complete with armor—in the corner of the room. A face-covering helmet was on the table next to it. Sword and shield hung on the wall opposite the other equipment. "So," Leske said, "you've been rubbing my nose in how you're the meanest thing with a blade, right?"

"I remember saying 'blades,'" Darik clarified. He knew where this was going. "But, yeah."

"Here's your chance to prove it," said Leske. "Put on the drunk's armor, and be the last man standing."

"Why don't you do it?" Darik asked.

"You're closer to his size than I am."

"I'm taller than both of you!"

"Well," said Leske with a mischievous smile, "that may be true, but I have something you do not." He reached into his pocket and retrieved the vial of poison. "One of us has to slip this to Mainar, and I'm the one holding it."

Darik attempted to swipe it from him. After that didn't pan out, he grunted in annoyance. "Damn coward."

They had to work fast. Getting Darik out of his leathers and into the medium-weight grey iron armor—which did not fit him as well as Leske had proposed—was not a straightforward process. They couldn't waste any time; Everd was scheduled to be in the very first fight, and if Darik wasn't there, "Everd" would be disqualified.

After an eternity of messing with straps and buckles, readjusting the chestplate, and several failed attempts to get the shield properly attached to his back, Darik was finally disguised as the warrior Everd. The helmet was only just able to fit on his head, but it did its job well of hiding his face and, almost more importantly, his brand. The boots, on the other hand, were a little too big, even with his poor leather ones on as well. _How people can wear this for hours at a time is beyond me. _

"How do I look?" Darik said, striking a heroic pose to the best of his ability.

Leske smirked as he packed Darik's leathers and weapons into an empty sack they looted from a nearby chest. "Like you've really got to use a chamber pot."

"I do. Looking back at it now, I should have used it before I got all this stuff on."

"You're gonna have to hold it," Leske said. "Or else 'Everd' is going to be replaced and we're going to be tossed into the lava sinks."

Darik nodded, or did the next best thing with the helmet on, and left the room. It was strange to him to ignore his instinct of sneaking through the shadows and instead walk right in front of the most esteemed members of the Warrior and Noble Castes. Some of them recognized the armor, and thus guessed who the man inside it was. Darik was didn't verbally respond to any of them; hearing his voice in Everd's armor would raise unwanted suspicion. He would wave at them though, to keep from seeming like a complete prick.

He reached the door to the Proving Arena with hardly any time to spare. Standing by the door, ensuring that he wouldn't get out into the arena too early, was a guard. He too identified Darik as Everd. "You never fought in a Proving before, have you?"

Darik hadn't, since he was casteless, but he didn't know about Everd's history. He shook his head anyway.

"Well remember, this Proving isn't to the death," the guard said sharply. "If your blade slays Mainar, you'll be stripped from the Memories."

He nodded absently, only realizing a moment later what the guard had said. Chancing that the guard wouldn't know Everd's voice, he mumbled in a low tone, "did you say Mainar?"

"Yeah."

Darik cursed Beraht under his information he'd provided was false; Darik and Leske had been led to believe that Everd and Mainar wouldn't meet up until late in the Provings, provided both had been winning their respective bouts.

Darik had hoped to use that to his advantage; learning to fight in heavy armor with a sword and shield against less experienced warriors rather than against veterans. That plan could now be found lost and abandoned in the darkest depths of the Deep Roads.

He silently thanked the Stone that it was a non-lethal Proving, though that truly meant that instead of death in battle, failure would mean torture by his merciless boss and his nug-shit crazy cousin.

The crowd that had come to see the Provings was very loud. Darik didn't know what the big deal was; fights broke out in Dust Town all the time, and those were free to watch. He knew the Grey Wardens would be somewhere in that crowd, watching and waiting to see who would be best to become one of them. If he ended up the winner of all the Provings, would they want to take him? Or would Everd, whose skill in combat seemed to be questionable based on the eight-to-one bet ratio that he would lose, become a Warden once he woke from his drunken slumber.

Another guard came up from behind Darik. "It's time," he said to the first guard.

He nodded and looked at Darik. "You ready?"

_No. _"Ready as I'll ever be," Darik said reluctantly.

The guard unlocked and opened the door. He stepped aside, letting "Everd" into the elliptical-shaped arena. The crowd went even wilder at the sight of him, though he suspected they were just hyped up to see Provings begin. Decorative walls that were at least twenty feet tall separated him from the observers. Six-sided platforms, meant for the combatants to stand on before the fight official began, were in the center of the floor.

Darik strolled to the panels with false confidence. He pandered to the crowd, trying to make himself seem larger than life. Coming his direction was, he guessed, Mainar, the brunette officer everyone—Darik included—expected to win. He wore a suit of heavy armor and a sword and shield. He was walking towards one platform, so Darik went for the other.

They made it to the panels at the same time, turning to face each other. Mainar had a smug look on his face, as if knowing he would win. Part of Darik had hoped Leske would have made a mistake and poisoned him early—in actuality, right on time—with the drug. Sadly, it did not seem that way.

As the crowd continued to hail them, they stood still. Darik wasn't sure if this was meant to happen; he'd thought the second they saw each other, they would start fighting. Slowly the crowd died down, enough for a dwarf standing at the top of the highest wall to announce the fight.

"This is a Glory Proving, fought under the watchful eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar, held on the eve of battle for the honor of House Aeducan and Orzammar's newest commander, Princess Elezabeth Aeducan. Also in attendance are our honored guests, the Grey Wardens!"

The Grey Wardens, sitting oddly in an area among the lower castes rather than with the nobles, stood and waved to the crowd.

The announcer continued. "Lady Aeducan has volunteered to share a few words before the Provings begins. Let us now hear her wisdom."

He stepped out of sight, and replacing him was, assumingly, Elezabeth Aeducan; more applause followed. Though Darik had a helmet partially blocking his vision, and she was a good distance away, he could tell she was a beauty; he'd never seen a member of any caste higher than Warrior, save for the stray few that frequented Tapsters' Tavern. She was young, too... maybe just a few years younger than he. Fighting in her honor didn't seem too bad now.

Rica had been forced by Beraht to learn the shitstorm that was dwarven politics. According to her, Elezabeth Aeducan was the favored child of King Endrin. Darik did notice that the applause for her seemed to be quite sincere, rather than mandatory. Her eldest brother, the Crown-Prince Trian, was, by tradition, supposed to be the next king of Orzammar. However, many were leaning more towards the newest commander instead.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Orzammar," she began. Her voice was loud and powerful. "The Ancestors will choose who wins these Provings today—"

Darik snorted at that.

"—but tomorrow's battle to recover valuable mines from the darkspawn will be determined by the might and steel of the Warrior and Nobles Castes. Winning will be a great victory, but at a high cost: the Deep Roads are clearer than they have been in four hundred years because a Blight has begun."

Gasps escaped many mouths of those in the crowd.

"Orzammar and her people must play their part, as we always have. Along with regular raids into the Deep Roads to recover much of what we have lost, our dearest king, and my father, King Endrin Aeducan, will start sending troops to the surface in one month's time. Fear not that the Ancestors will forsake those that go to the surface, for stopping the darkspawn in any capacity will bring favor to them."

He wondered how much truth there was to that.

"We may not know what the future will bring, but Orzammar will go on, for she cannot fall. She _will not _fall. But let us not dwell on those problems today." She looked down into the arena. "Only one of you will move on from this fight, but let me be the first to tell you that Orzammar thanks you for your future service to her people."

Mainar roared triumphantly. Darik didn't make as much fanfare, but getting compliments from this pretty noble—even if it was meant for Everd—did get him to respond quickly.

Elezabeth disappeared and the Proving announcer returned. He got right down to business. "The warrior Everd, son of Galten, will fight Officer Mainar, survivor of the battle at Kar Elerin! First warrior to fall is vanquished.

"Fight!"

Mainar drew his blade and slung his shield off his back in one swift movement and charged forward. Darik was not so elegant; he managed to get his sword out fine but he fumbled with and dropped his shield. He couldn't pick it up without taking his eyes off his opponent, so on the arena floor it remained.

Darik stepped aside and dodged the advancing warrior. His inexperience with heavy armor aside, he was still relatively fast compared to this old veteran. An advantage he planned to abuse thoroughly.

Mainar skidded to a halt. He swept his blade in an arc, but Darik caught and deflected the attack with his sword. He backed off a bit, putting plenty of space between him and the momentarily staggered officer. He used this brief moment to look examine his opponent. The best tactic would be to land a hard blow to his head; one that would knock him out, but not kill him.

He recovered in a couple seconds and came at Darik with his shield up again. Darik slashed at it, but the blow bounced harmlessly against his shield. Mainar feigned to the left. Darik fell for it, and was punished accordingly with a slash to the lowest part of his abdomen.

Being a rogue and thus trained to fight dirty, Darik elbowed Mainar's unprotected face. A cut extending from ear-to-chin appear on the left side of his face.

Mainar wiped his hand across the wound and looked dauntingly at the blood on his gauntlet. Baring teeth, he growled. "You'll pay for that, whelp!"

"You cut me first!" Darik shouted back. He used the low voice he'd spoken to the guard with, keeping in mind that someone in Orzammar had to know Everd's voice.

Mainar raced at him again. Darik noted that for an experienced warrior he had few tactics. Then again, he'd mostly fought darkspawn, and they were mindless creatures.

Darik slipped out of harm's way and, to amuse the observers of this fight, tripped the sprinting warrior. Mainar fell right on his face. As he'd expected, this managed to get a few laughs out of the crowd. Darik looked in the direction of the Grey Wardens; he swore he saw a smile on the head Warden's face.

"Sod it!" Mainar struggled to get on his feet. He spun to face Darik; his nose was bloody and crooked: broken by the impact with the ground. A vein on his red forehead throbbed rapidly and his eyes were glowering.

"Give up, old man?" Darik asked cockily. In his opinion, was winning. He, a casteless dwarf, was trumping a member of the Warrior Caste. An older member, but a warrior nonetheless. He and Leske were the only two dwarves in all of Orzammar that knew this defiance to the city's ancient customs.

And that made him reckless.

Not giving Mainar a chance to repeat his stale tactic, Darik ran towards him instead. Mainar prepared himself, lifting his shield high in anticipation of being rushed. At the last second, Darik stooped down below the shield and tackled Mainar to the ground. He rolled to his feet, now with a stolen shield in hand. He didn't notice that his vision was unblocked; that he no longer felt the cool metal of Everd's helmet on his face.

Before Mainar could move a muscle, Darik kneeled down and thumped the shield against his unprotected head. Before the shield knocked out the veteran, a stunned and even more outraged expression had been on his face. Darik thought this came from Mainar not believing that he had lost.

He realized this wasn't the case when he stood back up, and found Everd's grey iron helmet on the ground.

Time slowed to a standstill. The crowd had gone quiet; the only noise was Darik's heavy breathing. He could feel all eyes on his thick, dark brown mane, which was so unlike Everd's short, blond hair. He could feel all eyes on his long, braided beard, when Everd'd had a hairless chin.

He felt all eyes on his brand.

It was a while before the silence was broken by an outraged cry. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Darik spun to face the speaker. It came from a grey-haired elderly dwarf, standing where the Proving announcer and Elezabeth Aeducan had once been. His stance was that of royalty; he knew at once that he had drawn the attention of the King of Orzammar.

And the king was pissed.

"Casteless! You insult the very nature of this Proving. Guards, come and take this... filth away!"

Darik didn't bother attempting an escape. He didn't know the Proving Grounds well enough to sneak past the guards coming his way. The walls were too high and smooth for him to scale them. And even if one of the rare casteless sympathizers were somewhere in the crowd, they would not chance helping him out right in front of the king.

He didn't flinch as the six summoned guards started roughly dragging him away. Darik watched the crowd helplessly, making it a point to sneer at them all. Whatever happens next, he proved today that the casteless weren't the worthless people most of Orzammar made them out to be. The king, and the rest of the royal family, stared at him. Elezabeth Aeducan and who Darik assumed was the Crown-Prince Trian looked disgusted; the king's look was equally disturbed, though a third child of Endrin, presumably Bhelen Aeducan, seemed to be arguing with his father. Darik couldn't tell what he was saying, but it appeared Bhelen was defending him.

_Maybe Rica's noble and Bhelen can work together to get me out of being executed. Sent to the surface, maybe. _

Thinking of the surface made Darik cast his eyes over to the Grey Wardens. The head Warden was trying to shout something to the king, but over the noise of the crowd booing at the casteless dwarf, he would never be heard.

The guards led him through the door and back into the combatants' quarters. Two guards had a hold of each arm and were forcing him to go with them. Darik didn't try to break out of their grasp, but he refused to make it easy on them; he went limp, making the guards put extra effort into moving him.

"So what do ya think'll happen to me?" Darik asked the guard in custody of his right arm. "Am I gonna be executed to appease the Ancestors? Rot in a cell?" He smiled. "Get a pardon?"

He didn't expect the guard to answer, but he did. "You'll wish for all that when Beraht gets done with you."

"What?"

All the guards stopped when they reached the empty center of the combatants' quarters. Or, rather, empty of any warriors. Jarvia, however, was there, and behind her were some Carta members with their oily mitts on a bruised and bloodied Leske.

"Hello, cousin," Jarvia said with a smile.

"Hey, bitch," Darik replied. That earned him a slap to the back of the head from one of the guards.

"Beraht is very angry with you two. The second your helmet came off, he sent me and his men to collect you. Imagine our surprise when we found your friend heading towards the arena to save you."

Darik shook his head. "Dammit, Leske. Why didn't you run?"

"You wouldn't have done that to me," Leske said, wheezing between each word.

Darik honestly couldn't say that was the truth. But if Leske had gotten shit kicked out of him because of his actions, then Darik figured that he would have to return the favor.

He squirmed out of the guards' grasp and stole the longswords in their sheaths. He slid them through the weakest parts of their leather armor, killing them almost instantly. Darik hadn't wanted to kill them in the arena, as they'd only been doing their jobs, but they were under Beraht's control; that was their fatal mistake.

Darik leaped away from an incoming mace and slashed the throat of the mace's owner. The guard went down with a thud. He rotated to face his next opponent, but the sudden twist made his own injury sting. That made him hesitate, and that resulted in a fist in his face.

The world went black.

* * *

"Are you awake?"

Darik opened his eyes. He was on the ground, leaning against a wall. A cell wall, he realized, when he saw the bars and door that trapped him in the room. It didn't take long for him to come to the conclusion that he was in the Carta headquarters that ran beneath most of Orzammar; the holding cells of the Carta, which he had never before seen, to be more precise.

"Can you hear me?"

The voice belonged to Leske. Darik managed to get onto his feet after a few tries; his aching, damaged nose and the untreated wound on his abdomen left him sorer than he'd been in a while. _At least the bleedings stopped. _

Everd's armor had been taken off him in his slumber. Other than his boots, he was back in the worn and torn clothing he started the day off in. He checked his pockets as he stumbled towards the bars, disappointed but not surprised to find his lockpicks were gone.

Leske was just barely within sight, standing inside a cell to Darik's right. His face was swollen and he'd been stripped of everything but his ratty shirt and pants as well.

"How long has it been?" Darik asked.

"A couple of hours," Leske answered. "Jarvia threw us in here and said she'd be back in a little bit. So far, there's been nothing. Not that I'm upset about that." He paused briefly. "So, I think it's fair to say this is all your fault," Leske said to him.

Darik shook his head. "It's Beraht's fault. If we would have known Mainar was going to be the very first fighter, we'd have poisoned him."

"I don't think that argument is going to get us out of here."

"It certainly won't, but at times like this, all a man's got left is his ability to complain."

They were silent for a while. Darik broke it when he said, "we've got to get out of here. Beraht will go after Rica, and until her noble officially declares her a concubine, she's vulnerable."

"You think I haven't been looking for a way out? Rica's not the only one in danger here. They could kill us!"

"Leske, Leske, Leske... don't be so naïve," Darik said. "We are certainly going to be murdered. Horribly and brutally, I imagine. Slowly, too. They'll keep us just barely alive as they—"

"I get it," Leske interrupted. "As I was saying, there's no way out from my side. What about you?"

The sound of a door opening stopped Darik from telling Leske "no." A few seconds later, Jarvia, with a smug expression on her face, came into sight, along with a Carta member. She walked straight past Leske's cell without regarding the dwarf inside at all. "Good," she said to Darik. "You're awake. I was afraid that blow to the head would have been the end of you; that death would have been far too quick and painless."

He rubbed his nose. "Not exactly painlessly." He matched her smug look. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am about killing Beraht's men. It's a damned shame that the Carta has a few ne'er-do-wells to bother Orzammar."

She laughed. "You think they were Carta? No, just a couple of guards who didn't require much to bribe. They were no loss to Beraht. What was a loss, however, were the hundred sovereigns Beraht placed on Everd for Lord Vollney."

"That's all on Everd," he said. "The bastard was sprawled on his private room's floor piss drunk when we found him. Wouldn't have been able to stand up straight, let alone win the Provings. Beraht and Lord Vollney would have lost their money anyway."

"Maybe," said Jarvia, "but because of _you_, the entire Prvoing was declared invalid, and the Assembly launched an investigation to find out who was behind getting you into the Proving Grounds. Making you disappear, and the body's found in the Proving Grounds didn't help any. Even the Grey Wardens seem interested, for some reason. Beraht's gonna have to shell out more money to keep from being discovered."

He was past the point of hoping for an escape from Dust Town through the Grey Wardens. "We can make Beraht his money back," Darik said. It was a longshot, but he hoped he could talk his and Leske's way out of here. "We'll do any job that he has. Just let me explain—"

"It's far too late for that." Jarvia didn't sound upset about that. "Beraht'll be by soon to make sure you maintain your silence. Then he'll go for Cousin Rica, and take out the rest of his frustrations on her."

Darik reached his arm through the bars and swiped at Jarvia. She anticipated this, having stepped back before he even made his move.

"Please, Jarvia!" Darik never thought he'd be begging this witch for anything, but he was running out of options. "We're family. Even you cannot admit that means nothing to you! At least tell Beraht to leave Rica alone; I'm the one that made a mistake, and she's done everything he's ever asked her to do!"

"Which will make it all the more sad to see her die." Jarvia, for the first time, looked sincere. "I like Cousin Rica—certainly more than I like you. But I won't risk angering Beraht by telling him what he can and can't do. Maybe if the noble she attracted knocks her up soon, she'll survive. But I can't promise anything."

"Let us out of here, and we'll make a break for the surface," Darik said. "That way, we can never tell anyone important what happened, and Beraht'll never see us again."

"No can do." She started walking away. The Carta member that came into the room with her stayed behind, likely to guard them. "Enjoy your last night together, boys."

And with that, she was gone.

"No offense," said Leske after a long pause, "but fuck your cousin."

Despite the situation, Darik managed to chuckle weakly. "You always wanted to. Remember what you told me last week? 'I wonder what she looks like without her armor on.' I guess you'll never find out."

He ran his fingers through his hair as he started thinking of ways to escape his cell. There was nothing in his room, save from a couple piles of rocks. Heavy, large rocks...

"Hey you!" Darik called to the guard a moment later.

The guard looked at him but said nothing.

"Can I get something to drink? I haven't had any water since early this morning?"

He shook his head.

"I could die from thirst, you know. If I keel over before Beraht gets a chance to do the deed himself, who do you think he'll blame? Jarvia, his favorite little casteless dwarf? Or you, who was left here to guard us?"

The guard stood absently for a few seconds. Then he walked around the corner, reappearing with a small cup of water. He handed it to Darik through the cell bars. Darik accepted the cup with his left hand and downed the dirty but refreshingly-cold water in one gulp.

"Thanks."

Then he hammered a hefty rock into the guard's face; he'd been hiding it behind his back with his right hand. The guard yelped but went down hard. Darik thanked the Stone that the guard hadn't been wearing a helmet, else the plan would have been impossible to go through with.

Leske saw the whole thing. "Get his keys!"

"No shit."

Darik dragged the unconscious body closer to the bars. Luckily the key ring was attached to his belt, and there were only a handful of keys on the metal loop. He heard the door to his cell unlock after trying the third key.

He pushed the body aside and then the door. He ran over to Leske's cell and unlocked it too. Leske smiled all the while. "You'd think they would know better than to leave you a weapon."

"Let's just be thankful that they didn't," Darik said. He examined his battered friend thoroughly. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I think so." Leske limped through the door way and over to the guard. He removed the sword from his sheath. He put the end of it against the guard's throat. Before Darik could interject, Leske said, "if we want to get away with this, we can't leave one man alive to tell Beraht what we've done."

He pierced through the unconscious dwarf's throat. Wiping the blood on the now-dead man's clothing, he handed the sword to Darik. "I won't be able to fight anyone in this condition. It's up to you to get us out of here."

Darik took the sword. He was getting tired of being the warrior of the pair, but he could see Leske's point. Just walking the short distance between the two cells had clearly winded Leske; he wouldn't be able to defend himself to any extent.

Darik searched through a nearby chest and found a dagger. He seized it and claimed it as his own. There was an armor stand with leathers that might fit him, but he wanted to get out of the Carta headquarters as soon as possible. He would just have to hope that any and all men they encountered would be easily dispatched. He gave smaller dagger to Leske, just in case.

After removing all other useful equipment, they left jail room. Immediately they came across a crossroads. One way was straight ahead; the other went to the right. Darik looked over his shoulder to Leske, who was trailing behind the scout. "Which way did Jarvia bring us from?"

Leske pointed to the right passageway. "They brought us through one of the Dust Town entrances."

Darik considered their options. Going right would eventually lead them to Dust Town; the other way would probably bring them to Beraht's shop. At first he was going to suggest going right, but considering that the Orzammar Guard knew he was casteless, they would likely be searching there for him. They wouldn't expect him to be in the commons, in the heart of Orzammar. It might mean a run in with Beraht, but he was willing to risk it.

"Let's go forward."

They did. The Deep Roads-like corridor led them to a new door. Darik opened it cautiously, unsure of what—or who—would be on the other side. The room looked like it was used mainly for storage, but there were five thugs discussing something among the piles of crates. From their tones, Darik knew they were drunk; he would be able to sneak by without much difficulty.

But Leske whispered in his ear, "if they come to check on us, and find one of their fellows dead, they'll raise an alarm. Better to deal with them now than a whole lot more of them later."

Begrudgingly, he nodded. "We'll have to do this efficiently. Stand back."

Darik slowly climbed over the stacked crates, hoping he wouldn't be noticed until he made the first move. He made it to the top of the highest stack, overlooking the group of Carta thugs, without being seen. He removed from his pocket a large flask. It contained a combustible and corrosive green acid that would do a lot of damage if released.

So he threw it in the middle of the thugs.

A small explosion made three of the five dwarfs go airborne, while the remaining two were merely knocked off their feet. All had been splattered on by the acid; right away it began to tear through their armor and skin. Their screams were sickening to Darik; he doubted Leske felt the same way.

Effective as the grenade had been, it only managed to kill one of the thugs. Two were severely burned, but still breathing. The other two, the ones that hadn't been sent flying, were starting to get back on their feet.

Darik leaped down onto the ground. He shoved his longsword into one of the motionless dwarves, putting the man out of his misery. He then rushed towards the next closest dwarf—one of the better-off thugs—and stabbed through his corroded leather armor and into his chest. He fell before he ever got a chance to fight.

The other mostly-okay dwarf was now up, his greatsword unsheathed. He came at Darik and cleaved through him. Or would have, had Darik not backed up into the crates. He threw his dagger and caught the brute in the shoulder. The man must have been a beserker as the projectile hadn't fazed him at all.

The greatsword was swung at his head, but he parried it and slashed at the warrior. Darik grazed his stomach, but still the man didn't slow.

He moved in close to the thug, so close that the greatsword would be useless. Before the dwarf could scoot back and make use of his blade, Darik pulled the dagger out of the man's shoulder and sliced deeply into his neck. This fatal wound finally put down the beserking dwarf.

Leske made his way over to Darik, putting down the last surviving dwarf for him. "That went well."

"Yeah it did; glad you could help out in the very end," Darik said. He cleaned his weapons with a torn-off piece of the beserker's shirt. Then they started off again.

The room connected to a second one through another small cavern. Inside the room were four more dwarves. Who, Darik guessed, had heard the skirmish; their weapons were out and ready to maim them. There was no chance to use the element of surprise.

Darik fixed himself in the doorway, ready to take on all four at once. _And probably die in the process. _He'd only had the one grenade, and nothing else he had would slow or stop the oncoming thugs. Leske, injured as he was, was right behind Darik.

"We're in this together," he said.

Though that was nice to hear, it didn't make Darik anymore confident that they were going to survive.

The dwarf at the front of the group was halfway towards them when he stepped on a pressure plate. Darik had seen it instantly, but he had a keen eye. Barrels that were located on opposite sides of the plate, which had seemed out of place, suddenly went off in a fiery inferno. All four dwarves were caught in the blast; all four dwarves cried in agony as they succumbed to their burns.

Darik and Leske looked at each other, stupefied by what had happened.

"The Ancestors reject us my arse," Darik said. They broke into laughter as they treaded past the burning bodies. The only other door on the other side of the room swung open, and two more Carta members charged in. There was no pressure plate this time to save them.

Darik avoided the axe to the face and kicked the man away. The second dwarf was rapidly letting loose arrows that always just barely missed him. Darik slashed the first man's throat and ran at the archer. He cursed as an arrow hit his shoulder, but he cut down the archer before he could release another projectile.

With help from Leske, the arrow was tugged out of Darik. He howled, not caring if it would alert any other nearby Carta members. They dressed the wound with a piece of Darik's shirt to the best of their ability. A search around the room for some health poultices was underway. There was plenty of contraband and other valuables—some of which Darik pocketed to sell on the surface—but magical potions that could mend and repair wounds.

"Well, you'll stop bleeding naturally," Leske said optimistically. "Probably."

"Let's just get going," Darik said. "We've wasted enough time here."

The door that the two assailants had come through was connected to a hallway. And that hallway was connected to three other doors. One of the doors—the one on Darik's right—went into another cavern. The last time they'd found themselves at a junction like this, they'd gone straight. Seeing no reason to change this, Darik nodded to the door at the end of the hallway.

He regretted this choice as soon as he opened the door. For on the other side of it was Anor Beraht and two well-armed and armored thugs. He and Leske receded from the doorway, but it looked as if they hadn't been seen or heard.

"I'm cutting the whore free," Beraht told his men. "If that turncoat brother of hers doesn't know his place, I don't need precious Rica, either."

"Rica?" asked one of the thugs. "That the one you got all done up in lace? I been wanting to get my hands on that."

The other thug nodded in agreement. "Heh, I know what you mean..."

Beraht patted one of them on the shoulder. "She's yours if you want her boys. And let me tell you... it tastes as good as it looks."

Darik couldn't hold his tongue any longer. He went through the doorway and approached the head of the Carta. "How many times have I had to tell you? Don't. Fucking. Talk. About. Rica. That way."

He smiled like a mad man when Beraht's eyes widened at the sight of him. "What in sod-all is _that _doing out of its cage?"

Darik whipped out his weapons from his belt. He heard a sigh from Leske, then the sound of him doing the same. He pointed his sword at Beraht. "This has been a long time coming."

Beraht's face hardened as he and his thugs equipped their blades and shield. "Let's teach this little duster a lesson."

A dagger flew from behind Darik and into the chest of one of the thugs before anyone had a chance to move. Leske chuckled. "My aim's off a bit."

Beraht and the remaining Carta member weren't distracted by the death of the man for long. They dashed head-on at Darik. Darik waited for them, watching for the right time to strike. The thug, since he was not in heavy metal armor, reached him first. He lunged at Darik, but the blade was deflected and knocked out of his hand.

Darik hacked off the man's head in one, mighty blow. That didn't detour Beraht, who kept running right for him. Darik wasn't sure what to expect out of him; he was Merchant Caste after all, but he was also much more than that.

The axe in Beraht's hand would have sliced him in two had Darik not put his longsword between him and it. But Beraht was strong, so strong that Darik's longsword was knocked out of his hand.

Beraht's shield deflected Darik's dagger from entering a gap between his armor. The shield was then use as a battering ram, slamming Darik onto the ground. Beraht pressed his foot down on him, preventing him from getting up or retaliating.

Leske chucked a rock at Beraht's exposed head, nicking his forehead. The Carta leader growled, turning his attention to the warrior. "When I'm done with your friend, _you're _next!"

He didn't know that the rock had been meant to be a distraction; a distraction that allowed Darik to pick up his dagger and lodge it into his leg. Beraht only discovered this when the sharp knife found its way just below his kneecap.

Beraht recoiled, freeing Darik. "You piece of shit!" He had enough sense to have not let go of his sword and shield, but his attention was solely on his leg.

Darik picked up his longsword and clambered onto his feet. He hustled over to Beraht and tackled him. It required a lot more effort with him not being in Everd's heavy armor; nevertheless, Beraht released his weaponry and fell onto his back. Darik took a seat on his chestplate to prevent him from getting up. Leske came up beside him.

The edge of his sword was placed against Beraht's throat, but not into it. Darik wasn't ready to kill him. Not yet.

Beraht tried and failed to push Darik off. Darik could tell he was confused why he was still alive. And for that matter, so was Leske.

"Well go on, finish him!"

"Not yet," Darik said. He looked down at Beraht. "I've got a proposition for you."

"What?" Beraht and Leske exclaimed at the same time.

"You can walk, or rather, _limp_, out of here today Beraht," Darik began, "and so will we. You can keep being the leader of your little Carta, but me and Leske? We're done. Forever. When Rica's noble claims her, and she gets us—and by us I mean me and my good friend Leske, not you—into the Diamond Quarter, you'll stay right where you are. You'll generously give my family half your profits every month for the rest of your life. In return, you can live. What do you say?"

Beraht narrowed his eyes. "You think I could live even one more day after this? Knowing that my life was spared by a _brand_?! Do what you want with me, because after what you did at the Proving Grounds, there's no way the nobles would accept you. And the Carta won't die with me. Jarvia is more than capable of doing this, and she doesn't have to worry about keeping a good face for the public."

"This is your last chance, Beraht. Take it or leave it."

He spit in Darik's face and laughed like a lunatic. The laughing ceased once Darik pulled his sword away, leaving a deep line in Beraht's neck. His blood poured out and onto both of them.

Darik sat there for a while, stunned and in disbelief. When he woke up this morning, he never thought he would end up Orzammar's most wanted or killing Beraht. Beraht's last words, meant to be as cruel as they ever were, had a lasting effect. He was right: Darik would never be able to show his face in the Diamond Quarter. Worse than that would be if it were discovered he and Rica were related. Would she be punished because of him?

Leske shook his arm. "You all right?"

"I... I don't know," Darik admitted.

"I thought you'd be a little happier than this," said Leske. "Rica's safe now."

"Yeah. For now."

"I'm certainly a whole lot happier now that Beraht's dead, especially since I wasn't previously in the 'move to the Diamond Quarter' plan."

Darik didn't want to inform his friend on how unlikely that plan would actually happen now. So he faked a smile. "I couldn't leave you out after all this. You had my back when no one else did. That makes you family."

Leske helped him off of Beraht's lifeless body and, together as brothers, they headed for the exit.

* * *

"Don't hurt me!"

Darik ignored the cringing shopkeeper that ran Beraht's shop when he was indisposed. _I guess he'll permanently run it now. _He told the man to forget he and Leske were ever there as they walked towards the door.

The threat proved to be all for naught, as the second Darik and Leske stepped out into the commons, they were spotted by a group of Orzammar guards. The head of the detachment pointed at them. "There they are! Seize the fugitives!"

The guards circled them with swords at the ready. The announcer of the Provings was among the guards and he said, "drop your weapons and surrender. We will use force if you resist."

They did as they were ordered. Darik doubted these men were also under Beraht's payroll, considering the announcer was with them. He must have been more than an announcer if he was in charge of getting the men that had ruined the Provings.

From out of nowehere, the Grey Wardens appeared. Being the tallest people in all of Orzammar, it was amazing that they could sneak up like that. But they weren't alone. Walking beside the head Warden was Darik's sister, Rica. If there weren't twenty swords currently pointed at him, he would have ran up to and hugged her; he hadn't been totally convinced that Beraht hadn't already gotten to her.

Why the Grey Wardens were here, and why the head Warden and the announcer didn't seem on good terms, Darik didn't know. But he decided to play the best, and only, card he had up his sleeve.

"Anor Beraht was behind everything."

The head Warden turned to the announcer. "Wasn't this Anor Beraht the man you suspected to be behind their convenient escape?"

"Regardless," the announcer said, "the penalty for impersonating a higher caste is death. The casteless there will be executed, and if the other one was involved, he too will be punished."

"If Beraht is as influential as you say, perhaps there is truth in this young man's words."

"Anor will be interrogated to find out—"

"Beraht's dead," Darik interrupted.

"He's dead?" the announcer asked. "Beraht had many enemies, but also powerful allies. They—"

It was Leske's turn to speak while the announcer was talking. "Beraht was behind everything. He would have butchered us if Darik hadn't killed him first!"

The head Warden arched his brows. "Again you make a daring escape? You must have as much courage as skill with a sword. We Grey Wardens travel far and wide in search of those with the potential to Join our ranks. That is why we have come to Orzammar, and that is why I shall recruit you."

Darik stared at the Warden, looking for any sign that the man was joking. He couldn't find one. "Are you serious?"

"Let me make my offer formal. I, Duncan, Warden-Commander of Fereldan, extend the invitation for you to Join our order."

Darik looked at Rica, who had a smile wider than he'd ever seen from her. He didn't know what to say.

The Proving announcer had something to say though. "This man is a criminal. You can't do this!"

"I can and I am," Duncan said. "It would mean traveling to the surface lands and thus leaving your people, but it does offer you the chance to strike a blow against the darkspawn and the Blight."

He almost shouted "yes!" right away, but he paused. A moment later he said, "I'd like to talk to my sister and Leske before I decide."

Duncan nodded. "I see no problem with that. Do you, Proving Master?"

"I guess not," the announcer grumbled.

Darik and Leske walked over to a more secluded area. Rica joined them and immediately slapped his chest. "What are you doing?" she hissed in a whisper. "Go tell Ser Duncan 'yes.'" Her face softened when she saw the state they were both in. "You two need healers."

"I'll be fine," Darik told her. "And Leske's face has always looked like that."

"Yeah, I've always been handsome," Leske said. "So, are you ready to go tell the Warden that you'll join him now?"

"We haven't even started to discuss that," Darik said. He turned to Rica. "I can't leave you here alone."

"I spent the morning with my new patron," she said. "He told me that as soon as I become pregnant, he would announce a marriage between us. That would move me and Mother to the Diamond Quarter, and if the child is a boy, we will stay there."

Darik couldn't see any reason not to join—or "Join", since Duncan had put some emphasis on the word—with Rica taken care of.

"She'll have me to take care of her until we all move to the Diamond Quarter," Leske said.

Darik knew he could trust his best friend to do just that. "Rica, when you move to the Diamond Quarter, tell your noble that Leske is a brother, or a cousin, or anything that'll get him to go with you. He'll not last long in Dust Town with the Carta now leaderless thanks to us."

"I will," she said.

With everything settled, Darik shrugged. "See ya when I see ya," he said to his sister and his friend.

He walked up to Duncan and offered his hand. "I'll Join you."

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks to Pandaman320, Apollo Wings, Grey, Aaron sherman, and Eilonwycousland for their reviews. And thanks to everyone who helped me decide what I would do with the other origins/other DA companions. _

_I've more or less got everything planned out, though there is one other thing I would appreciate your opinion on. Should I have Daveth and Ser Jory survive the Joining? It is something I've rarely seen out of all the stories this site, and something I think could be very interesting. Let me know in a review or private message what you think._

_Leave me a review if you find the time to. And thanks for reading._


	4. A Stab in the Back

**A STAB IN THE BACK**

**Elezabeth**

It was nearly one in the morning when Elezabeth was finally heading back to her room. That left her with being able to get only four or five hours to sleep before the march into the Deep Roads later that day.

She was more tired than she'd been in a while. All thanks to the brand that had snuck into the Provings in disguise as Everd Bera. He'd been the catalyst for all the issues that resulted in her returning to bed at such a late hour. First, obviously, was him fighting Officer Mainar. The Ancestors made it clear that the casteless dwarves were not allowed to participate in the Provings, yet the bastard had done so anyway.

Then the casteless dwarf went missing. The guards her father had sent to collect him never showed up to the royal prison. Early in the investigation at the Proving Grounds had the bodies of some of the guards discovered. Nobody had seen what happened, and nobody knew where the criminal had gone.

A full-scale search through the whole of Orzammar for the casteless dwarf was launched soon after. It wasn't until two hours later that he, and another casteless dwarf, had been caught leaving the shop of one Anor Beraht—who had also been wanted for his involvement with the events at the Proving Grounds—in the Orzammar Commons. Both had been armed and injured, supporting the claim that Anor had been behind everything.

For all the crimes the dwarf had perpetrated, ranging from defying the Ancestors and escaping justice, the bastard ended up rewarded!

That was what bothered Elezabeth the most. Before the man could be arrested, Duncan of the Grey Wardens had ended up recruiting him. King Endrin, with Elezabeth and many other nobles' support, had called for the man's imprisonment. Duncan had to enact the Right of Conscription because of this, giving the duster diplomatic immunity from everything he'd done.

_How could Duncan do this? _Elezabeth knew that the Wardens accepted anyone from anywhere, but she could not see why he'd pick the casteless. She'd cornered the Commander of the Grey and demanded that he explain his reasoning.

"You told me to recruit the winner of the Provings," Duncan had said. "There was only one fight, and Darik was the winner."

Duncan was a smart man; he knew that his decision was not a popular one. So he announced that he and the other Grey Wardens would scout out the Deep Roads prior to the battle, taking the casteless Darik with him.

Battle plans still had to be made and discussed once the debacle with the duster was done with. A few of the smaller noble houses had pulled their troops and other support from the battle. Some believed that the Ancestors would punish them all for allowing a dwarf they had abandoned to escape his due punishment. King Endrin had declared that the battle would still commence, and that the Ancestors would show their favor.

Elezabeth wasn't sure which side she was on. On one hand, she wanted to prove her competency as a commander as soon as possible. On the other, she didn't want to lead Orzammar's finest into a doomed-to-fail battle.

But she did not want to think about it any further, at least not with her being so exhausted. She'd been wearing her grandmother's armor all day, and though it was only made of iron, it was heavier than her set of silverite.

Gorim had retired earlier in the evening than her. Though he was Elezabeth's second, and secret but trusted lover, he still had not been allowed to be present for all of the battle discussions. She'd been hoping to... celebrate... her being named commander with him, though he was surely asleep in his home in the commons by now.

A servant was waiting for Elezabeth in her room. It was the same one that had helped her with her armor and her hair earlier that morning. She shook her head; she'd actually helped her yesterday morning, she remembered.

"Would you like me to help you out of your armor, your Highness?" the servant asked.

Elezabeth nodded. Both of them worked quickly to remove the iron armor; both were quite tired and longing for rest. As the servant was finishing up on the buckles she could not reach, there was a knock on her door.

Elezabeth smiled. _Gorim has decided to show up after all. _

"Would you like for me to answer the door?"

"Once we are done with my armor," Elezabeth answered. Gorim had seen plenty of her in her armor today; she wanted to be in something a little more comfortable for this early morning visit.

It took only a couple more minutes for them to finish up on her armor, plus a couple minutes more for the padding underneath the armor to be removed. All the while the knocks continued, and Elezabeth became less and less convinced that it was her boyfriend on the other side of the door. Gorim would have waited patiently; whoever was there was clearly not patient.

Once Elezabeth was out of her armor, she threw on the first dress she had. "You may answer the door and then go home for the night."

"Yes, your Highness," the servant said. "And thank you."

Elezabeth stood in the center of her bedroom, giving her a good view of the door. She was a little disappointed to see Bhelen was the one that had knocked, but she supposed he was better than seeing Trian.

"My lord," the servant said to him as he entered the room. He nodded to her, just barely acknowledging her existence. She scurried around him and shut the door behind her as she left the room.

"I need to discuss something with you, Elezabeth," Bhelen said. "Will you hear me out?"

"You may," said Elezabeth. She gestured to her table and proceeded towards it. As she walked she added, "I assume this is something important, or else it could have waited until the march into the Deep Roads."

Bhelen waited until they were both seated at the table to speak. "It is. I would have brought it up sooner, but I couldn't risk Trian overhearing."

"What could possibly be so bad that you fear Trian overhearing?" Elezabeth asked with narrowed eyes.

Bhelen looked over his shoulder as if making sure that Trian hadn't appeared at the call of his name. When he returned his attention to Elezabeth, he spoke in barely more than a whisper. "Trian has begun to move against you."

Try as she might, Elezabeth could not maintain a straight face. "This is not news to me, Bhelen. He's made an effort to undermine me every chance he's ever had. Practically all the deshyrs of the Assembly are either on his side or mine when it comes to who will take Father's throne when he returns to the Stone."

"It's different this time, 'Beth. I never thought his much-proclaimed honor would allow him to actually act on his jealousy but..." Bhelen took her hand, "big sister, Trian is going to try to kill you."

"This..." Elezabeth went quiet, unsure what to say. She couldn't honestly say she was surprised by this—betrayed and angry, certainly—but it was still upsetting to hear that her eldest brother, who at some point she must have liked a little bit, wanted her dead.

"This is a serious accusation, Bhelen," she managed to finish saying. "One that should not be made without proof. How do you know?"

"I overheard him giving order to some of his men, and I was shocked. Trian's decided you're a threat to his taking the throne, and as you've said, he has reason to believe this."

"But I must have lost some support today. The Provings were made in honor of my promotion to commander, and the very first fight revealed that damned casteless defying the ancient rules set out by the Ancestors. Some view this as a sign that I am not fit to command. Trian must have thought of this."

Bhelen shook his head. "When the battle goes well tomorrow—er, this afternoon—you'll win back the support you lost and then some. Trian will no doubt strike hard, and strike soon; you know his pride will never allow him to step aside."

Elezabeth looked down at the table, split on how she should act. "What should I do about this?"

"You're the elder. I'll follow your lead, as always."

_That didn't help me any._

She considered her options. Everything Bhelen said about Trian's pride was true. He was the Crown-Prince, and for him not to take the throne would make him the laughing stock of the Diamond Quarter. Killing Elezabeth would leave Bhelen his only competition for the throne. As good a man that Bhelen was, his stance on the casteless would ensure he would not become King of Orzammar, especially after the trouble caused by Duncan's newest recruit.

But could she be as heartless? Could she make the hard choice of getting him before he got her? Elezabeth knew that Gorim would do it if she couldn't. And even if the job could not be done discreetly, that would mean _her _only rival for the throne would be Bhelen, and thus her having no rival at all.

Elezabeth silently debated what she would do for a long time. All the while, Bhelen watched her with careful eyes. Eventually she decided what she would say, if only to have her brother leave her to her sleep. "Trian is a problem that will have to be handled later. For now, we have a battle with the darkspawn to focus on."

"You're my elder; I'll respect any decision you make," Bhelen said. "But please, be careful. I don't want to lose the sibling I actually like."

She smiled. Sometimes it was easy for her to forget that Bhelen had only passed his eighteenth year a couple months ago. To Elezabeth, he was still her kid brother. "I feel the same way," she told him.

He stood up. "I'll leave you to your sleep... however much you can get after hearing this news. I'm taking your place as Father's second, so I'll be at hand if you need me. I've got your back if Trian tries anything."

"Thank you. And I've got yours, if Trian wishes to become an only child."

Bhelen left her room after that. Elezabeth could feel a headache coming on, triggered by her first real taste of dwarven politics. She crawled into her bed, too tired to change into her nightgown, and feel asleep almost immediately.

* * *

"Trian and his men will clear the way for the Grey Wardens to descend into the easternmost caverns," Lord Harrowmont said, reminding those present for the quick meeting before the battle. "Those caverns are still infested by the worst of the darkspawn. We cannot risk our own troops in there."

Elezabeth stood between her father and Gorim. She wore her heavy silverite armor, with the heraldry of House Aeducan proudly visible on her chest. Strapped to her back was her kite shield, also silverite and bearing the house's crest; in her sheath was her longsword made of the same high-quality metal. Her massive helmet was suspending from her belt, as was her new enchanted dagger.

The nobles and warriors most involved with today's battle were present for the meeting. King Endrin, too old to fight but still able enough to lead, wore a suit of dragonbone and a simple leather helmet. Bhelen, in his red steel, was on the other side of the king, since he was his second. Duncan was the only Grey Warden in sight; Elezabeth suspected the others were probably off somewhere with their new casteless recruit. Lord Pyral Harrowmont, High-General of Orzammar, was the next closest to the king after Bhelen... and was in his robes for some reason.

Next to Duncan was Trian. Her eyes lingered distastefully on him for a while. Beside her eldest and most wicked brother was her cousin, Piotin Aeducan. Bhelen, having taken Elezabeth's place as their father's second, could not serve Trian and so was replaced with the only Aeducan not from the Noble Caste. Piotin was renowned for winning the Provings more often than anyone else. Elezabeth could imagine that Gorim was trying to burn Trian with an intense stare; she had told him about her conversation with Bhelen, and now he was on full alert when the Crown-Prince was nearby.

Duncan stepped forward and addressed the dwarves. "Understood, Lord Harrowmont. We should be able to sense the darkspawn and avoid them once the way is open."

"May the Paragons favor you," said King Endrin, "and the Stone catch you if you fall."

"Come, men!" Trian shouted to his troops as he and Duncan started away from the group of nobles. "Glory awaits!"

Lord Harrowmont turned to Bhelen. "Bhelen, you and your men will second the king, clearing the main road."

"Don't you think it looks a little... cowardly to allow these humans to take our place where the fighting is thickest?" Bhelen asked, referring to the Grey Wardens.

"Are you questioning the battle plan?" asked Lord Harrowmont.

Bhelen raised his hands defensively. "Of course not. I'm sure your caution is for the glory of us all."

"Enough, Bhelen," King Endrin said with a stern voice. "Take your men and make ready. Harrowmont and I need to have words with Elezabeth."

Elezabeth didn't know what this was about. She was to lead her men into the most northern caverns and circle around, flanking the darkspawn Bhelen and her father would be fighting on the main road. Then, if the time and opportunity permitted, she would go searching for the Shield of Aeducan in the lost Aeducan Thaig. _At least, that was the plan last night_.

Bhelen wished her good luck and then walked away. Once he was gone, King Endrin said, "I have a special mission for you. You will take a small task force instead of a bulk of the army and—"

"Is this because of the Provings yesterday?" Elezabeth asked abruptly.

"I will not lie to you, Elezabeth," King Endrin said. "That is in part why you specifically have been chosen. I'm sure the Ancestors favor you, but a few of the other houses are not as certain as I. Bhelen recommended you to lead this mission, and if only to appease the lesser houses, I decided it was best."

She sighed, knowing better than to argue with her father. She would have to remember to smack her younger brother upside the head for accidentally screwing her over. "What is this special mission then?"

"In the eastern Deep Roads, there is a secret door carved into the stone," King Endrin said. "The door leads to a side entrance into Aeducan Thaig, lost long ago to us by the darkspawn horde."

Elezabeth brightened up at the sound of that. It seemed her own secret goal was now going to become her special assignment.

"Normally the darkspawn would have made it impossible to reach, but since we are at the precipice of a Blight, we have our chance to scout out the thaig. What you will need to do is clear out Aeducan Thaig as best you can and map it out; that way we can come back at a later date, hopefully with even less darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and recover it completely.

"In addition, my father believed that the shield of Paragon Aeducan remains in that thaig, under the stones of the central room. Prove yourself to the Ancestors by reclaiming the shield, if my father was correct."

"Will I be going in alone?"

"Small scouting forces have already been sent ahead; they will join you when you meet up with them. The way you'll be going in, that should be plenty to get in and out. He looked at Gorim. "And you will have your second, of course. Gorim, I expect you to protect my daughter. Can I count on you?"

"You can always count on me to defend Elezabeth with my life, your Majesty," Gorim said.

He spoke with too much ease about such a subject. There was a strange glint in the king's eyes. For a second, Elezabeth wondered if her father knew about, or had some inkling of, their secret relationship.

"Good," King Endrin said slowly. "That's... good." He returned his attention to Elezabeth. "One of the scouting groups will meet you at the first crossroads you come to. You shouldn't encounter any resistance until afterwards; else I would assign a unit to you right now. The second will be further in. Our family signet ring should be the only thing able to open the door to Aeducan Thaig." He looked at her seriously. "I hope you have it on you."

"I never go anywhere without it," Elezabeth said. She was lying. It was only a stroke of luck that she decided to wear it today. Had she not, she wondered how things would play out.

"The crossroads where you meet the first scout will be the rendezvous point," Lord Harrowmont said. "There, you can present the shield to the lords and demonstrate the strength of Aeducan!"

Elezabeth thought it was odd that Lord Harrowmont, who was the head of House Harrowmont, would be so interested in bringing glory to a separate house. He and King Endrin were close advisors and even closer friends, but still.

King Endrin and Lord Harrowmont started towards Bhelen and the main force of the army, leaving Elezabeth and Gorim behind. The king stopped briefly, turned and faced his daughter. "May the Ancestors watch over you, my child," he called out to her.

"May they watch over us all!" she shouted back.

* * *

The way to the first crossroads was not as vacant as King Endrin had led on. A few genlocks were to be expected, deep in the Deep Roads, but the giant spider had taken her by surprise. However, it was nothing that she and Gorim couldn't handle. Darkspawn were dangerous creatures, but less so in such little numbers.

The first scouting group consisted of four dwarves. Three of them were helmeted, following the only one that wasn't, but all of them had the seal of House Ivo on their armor and shields. Elezabeth recognized the leader of the scouts as Frandlin Ivo: one of the more up and coming members of the lesser noble house. He was well known in the Proving Grounds to be unpredictable in terms of weapons and tactics; he was meant to be a major competitor in the Provings in her honor yesterday, had the casteless dwarf not ruined everything. Frandlin frequented the palace due to his close friendship with her brother Bhelen.

"Commander," Frandlin said with a firm handshake to Elezabeth. "Did you run afoul of any darkspawn?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle," she said.

"We didn't expect any activity in these tunnels at all; most tunnels are dead ends. The one we want is swarming with those friends. It's going to be a fight."

Elezabeth smiled, though her helmet made that unknown to anyone else. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Recovering the Shield of Aeducan should not be as simple as walking in and taking it."

"I suppose that would be changed in the stories of today's victory," Frandlin said, "to us taking on an immense hoard and surviving against all odds. It certainly sounds more interesting, though I can't say that's what I would want for my men and I's first journey into the Deep Roads."

"It just might come to that. The Blight on the surface, according to the Grey Wardens, has only just begun. The Deep Roads are clearer than they have been since the last Blight, but they are far from empty. The chances of us all returning to Orzammar are not high."

The warriors of House Ivo were visibly shaken by that news, but they did not express it verbally. They were dwarves, and they knew their place as the defenders of Orzammar. They would fight to the last man, and do it with honor.

Frandlin was the first to recover. "My men and I will take the rear guard. Shall we move?"

"We shall."

The six dwarves headed in the direction of Aeducan Thaig, based on information gathered by Frandlin's group. The Deep Roads were ancient and, though well-made by the Ancestors, could not withstand the corruption that was the darkspawn. Had they still been intact, it would not have taken long to reach the thaig. But a great deal of tunnels and small passageways had been made in the walls of the Deep Roads, collapsing many ceilings and blocking off the Roads themselves.

Larger bands of genlocks were encountered further in. Not enough to be a big issue, or a reason to retreat, but the dwarves were put through their paces. Elezabeth was the only one among them that had ever fought darkspawn before, but combating these mindless creatures didn't require much expertise.

They came across the second scouting group—consisting of three members of the Warrior Caste—during a bout with the fourth pack of darkspawn Elezabeth Aeducan's group had faced. The scouts were easily distinguishable from the genlocks since they did not fight like wild animals. Even so, without the natural dwarven ability to see in dark spaces, thanks to living underground, the second scouting group may have been mistaken for enemies.

Words were not exchanged until the last genlock fell. One of the scouts ran up to Elezabeth and said, "you're here! I thought the darkspawn had got you for sure."

"Lady Aeducan is not some whelp who cannot defend herself!" Gorim told the scout.

"M-my apologies, your Highness," the scout said. He seemed tenser now than when fighting the darkspawn. "I meant no disrespect."

"No disrespect was given," she said to him. She looked at Gorim. "This is a battlefield, Gorim. Not the Diamond Quarter. There is no need to call out someone for not addressing me formally." She returned her eyes to the scout. "And I am not that easy to kill. I am the greatest warrior of my generation in all of House Aeducan."

The scout chuckled nervously. "Then I'll make sure I'm behind you if we're swarmed."

That comment earned him another dirty look from Gorim. He tested his courage by continuing under the burning eye of Elezabeth's second. "We were doubling back from the tunnel ahead when we came across the genlocks. It's the one that we want, but there are darkspawn tracks all over it. We'll have to be careful."

"Let's get moving," Elezabeth said.

"We're with you," said the scout. The other two behind him grunted in agreement.

And so the group of six became nine, and the dwarves marched on towards Aeducan Thaig. The scout's information proved to be correct in the next cavern where the largest mass of genlocks to date ambushed the dwarves. Worse than that, an alpha was among their ranks. Most of the darkspawn were competent enough, but alphas were known to have some intelligence, along with more skill and power than its fellows. The only thing more dangerous than an alpha was a darkspawn who had magic at its hands, but she had never seen one.

Elezabeth took on the alpha while the rest of the warriors handled the lesser threats. It, like many darkspawn, carried crude slabs of metal as shield, but this was the first one she'd ever seen actual use it for its intended purpose. And it had tactics, such as feigning attacks and backing off from attacks that would pass by its shield.

In the end, she put it down. Because she was Aeducan, and it was a Tainted beast.

But the sheer numbers of the darkspawn proved too many. Two members of House Ivo had been overwhelmed and killed; their steel armor ripped open and then their rib cages. And one of the scouts from the Warrior Caste had been decapitated raggedly by the poorly made arms of a rogue genlock.

Their names were recorded, to be given to the Shaperate, and their bodies marked, so others could return to properly return them to the Stone. Not much else could be done, as the quest for Aeducan Thaig and the Shield of Aeducan was not yet finished.

Not long after the eventful battle did the dwarves reach the stone door that would lead to Aeducan Thaig. A door, according to King Endrin, that could only be opened with the use of an Aeducan signet ring.

A door that was currently wide open with three genlock corpses in front and just inside it.

"Looks like someone beat us to the door," said the head scout rather obviously. He walked up to and closely examined the nearest darkspawn body. He kept a safe distance from it as he did so, for darkspawn were deadly even when they stopped breathing; their Taint could infect someone even after death.

"This darkspawn body is still fresh," he said. "Whoever opened the door is most likely still in there."

He rejoined the remaining six dwarves as Elezabeth spoke to Gorim. "You heard my father. Only an Aeducan ring should be able to open that door."

"Maybe one of your more ambitious cousins wanted to recover Paragon Aeducan's shield for himself and claim all the glory," Gorim suggested.

That was a possibility. She could see Piotin doing such a thing; completing her special mission on his own initiative might earn him an honorary movement from the Warrior Caste to the Noble Caste.

She wouldn't have it. "I will not have my glory stolen from under me," Elezabeth said firmly. "That damned casteless dwarf ruining the Provings did enough of that. Let's go see which member of my large family has decided to screw me over today."

* * *

Elezabeth stood over the dead mercenary captain, breathing heavily after the fight that broke out between his men and hers. It was his own fault that he was dead. He'd refused to tell her which Aeducan was behind his being here.

Now that he was dead, along with the rest of the six other mercenaries—and unfortunately another scout from the second group that had joined her—there was only one way to get the information that she needed. She knelt down beside his body, placing her weapons and helmet on the ground next to her. Her gauntlets, too, were removed so she could better rummage through his things, hoping to find the evidence she so desperately needed.

Gorim walked over to her. "I never took you for the pillaging type, my lady."

Elezabeth could only manage to give him a quick, weak smile before returning to her search. "I'm not. I'm just looking for—"

She felt her hand pass over a small metal loop in his right pocket. She pulled it out, revealing to the rest of her men that had circled around her just a second ago a silver ring bearing the mark of House Aeducan.

"—this," Elezabeth finished saying. She rotated the ring so that she could see the inscription inside it. Like all Aeducan signet rings, the owner's initials were engraved into the metal.

The ring she found on the mercenary had the letters T and A engraved into it. And there was only one Aeducan with the initials of TA.

"This... is Trian's," Elezabeth said, somewhat in disbelief despite herself. "He was going after the shield." She was quite for a moment, think it through her head what was going on. "Of course Trian would want the Shield of Aeducan. He needs to be the one that recovered it, so that the Assembly makes him king when my father returns to the Stone."

"He couldn't do it himself," Gorim said, his hand on her shoulder for support. "He was assigned to clear out the Deep Roads with the Grey Wardens. These mercenaries must have been paid quite a bit of gold to do this, and to assumingly keep quiet about it later."

"But... how did Trian know I was going to be here?" Elezabeth asked no one in particular. "You all heard the captain. He'd been expecting me. How could Trian have learned that this was going to be my mission if even I only learned about it an hour ago?"

"House Ivo was informed of this mission early this morning," said Frandlin Ivo. "We had only enough time to scrounge up a small scouting force, but the Crown-Prince likely would have been informed much sooner than we, giving him the time to let these mercenaries know about you."

Elezabeth stared at Trian's ring with a frown on her face. "That is possible," she said, mostly trying to convince herself. "Trian is thickheaded, stubborn, and prideful, but at the end of the day, he is an Aeducan. And an Aeducan would not be dumb enough to have his plans be so easily discovered. He would have acted through an underling to hire the mercenaries, and he would steal or forge another signet ring before giving the captain his own."

She closed her fist on the ring. "Something doesn't add up. But for now, we have our orders. Get the shield and get out. We shouldn't run into anymore mercenaries, but there might still be darkspawn about. Keep your eyes peeled."

The dwarves headed for the thaig chamber at once. Elezabeth noticed that of the two ballistas outside the thaig chamber, one was aimed at the tunnel blocked by a large head of rubble, once a part of the cavern ceiling. She reached out with her Stone sense, confirming that the tunnel would bring them all back to the crossroads where she was supposed to present the shield. If a ballista bolt was fired in the right crevice, the rubble would all away. That would save them from having to retrace their steps. Or possibly bring the entire cavern down upon them.

The chamber was not entirely what Elezabeth had been expecting. A coffin in the center of the room, and beyond that was a statue of Paragon Aeducan. The floor beneath the coffin was made of tiles, though Elezabeth's keen eye could see that some of the tiles were slightly raised.

"This is the room," Gorim said. "How do we get the shield?"

Elezabeth pointed at the coffin. "The Shield of Aeducan will probably be in there." She wondered why the mercenary captain had asked her about the shield's whereabouts, as it seemed quite straightforward to her. "There has to be some reason the captain could not have opened up the coffin and checked himself."

The group separated and started searching the room. After all, even if the shield could not be recovered, this room had not been seen by any eyes other than the darkspawns' in many years. Who knows what could be learned through simple observations?

Elezabeth moved right to the coffin. It didn't take her long to find an indentation in the side of the box, one that matched the Aeducan signet ring perfectly. She removed her left gauntlet, exposing her own ring, and pressed it into the indentation, expecting it to be a switch of sorts.

Nothing happened. She pressed it again, this time a little harder, but there was no change. Now she was beginning to see why the mercenary captain might have need information from her. Information that she did not have.

"Well?" asked Gorim, advancing towards her.

She turned to face him. She opened her mouth to respond but just as she did, Gorim stepped onto the raised tiles. It sunk into the ground and made a series of mechanical clinks. He continued walking, and as soon as his foot came off the tile it came back up and made more noise.

Elezabeth knew immediately how to open the coffin. Part of her was surprised at how simple the locking mechanism for the coffin, but she supposed that the dwarven people must have gotten smarter—and in turn, more clever—since the days of Paragon Aeducan.

"Go back on that tile," she said to Gorim.

He followed her order without question. She then directed Frandlin Ivo and the last remaining scout to stand on the tile to the left and right of Gorim. The whirring mechanics buried under the stone floor, connected to the coffin, went on for a while.

The noise abruptly stopped, hopefully meaning that the "puzzle" had been disarmed. _There's only one way to find out. _

Again Elezabeth pressed her signet ring into the indentation. This time the lid of the coffin slowly creaked open on its own. And inside laid the shield, which was... not entirely what she expected. She had imagined it would be a fine silverite, or maybe even dragonbone, heavy shield. Instead, the Shield of Aeducan was a simple targe shield made of steel, scarred by what appeared to be claw scratchings. Despite the extensive damage, the ancient seal of House Aeducan—the same as it had been back when the house belonged to the Warrior Caste, prior to Paragon Aeducan—was still quite visible. Considering its age, it was a remarkable that it hadn't corroded over the years.

All the remaining dwarves of Elezabeth's small force joined her around the coffin in examining the shield. They were all quiet for quite some time.

"That's it," Gorim said in a soft voice. He put an arm around Elezabeth. "We've got it."

For once, she wasn't worried about publicly displaying affectionfor her second. She'd fought and killed alongside these other men. They'd earned her trust, at least enough that she knew they wouldn't say anything. So she wrapped herself around him in return, grinning widely under her helmet.

The scout sniffed loudly. "It doesn't look like much."

Frandlin slapped the scout's chest. The way he did it suggested a familiarity between the two men, a familiarity that she'd up till now not noticed. _Strange. _"The skill of our crafters has come far since then," he said to the other dwarf. He looked back at the shield. "But still... the Shield of Aeducan."

"This shield has withstood countless darkspawn and the test of time," Elezabeth said proudly, not too modest to boast her house. "Much like the dwarven people. It carries the strength of all of us, not only House Aeducan."

"It's inspirational," Gorim said in agreement.

The scout shrugged. "If you say so; it's just a shield."

"Your bow is just a bow," said Elezabeth. "_This_ is... a work of art." She placed her silverite shield on the ground, happy to leave it to the darkspawn if it meant her getting to carry the same shield used by the greatest Paragon that had ever existed. "Let's head for the rendezvous point. Hopefully the rest of the battle has gone well. If not, this will raise peoples' spirits. Nothing could ruin this moment."

* * *

Genlocks were waiting for them outside the thaig chamber. Elezabeth hadn't thought to shut the stone door that led into Aeducan Thaig, and now she regretted the oversight. The faceless warrior of House Ivo fell in the ambush all because of her. He, like the rest of the fallen, would be remembered.

Frandlin and the scout spoke together as the whole group headed for the crossroads, using the path previously blocked by the large rubble; the bastille had done a good job of clearing the rocks away. Elezabeth was too preoccupied to pay attention to their hushed words. Her guilt was eating away at her. Finding the Shield of Aeducan had cost the lives of five of her people—one specifically due to her neglect.

Gorim tried comforting her for a while, but she would listen. Instead he switched topics. "If Trian were really scheming against you, the crossroads would be the perfect place for him to do the deed, assuming the other houses aren't already waiting there. It would have been where he'd meet the mercenary captain to get the shield. If he finds you, he might just try to take it by force. He greatly outnumbers us now, even if he just brings a portion of his men."

Elezabeth thought of the ring in her pocket, the one that had Trian's initials on it. She'd stopped believing that he wouldn't kill her, his own sister, over the throne. However, she still wasn't entirely convinced that Trian would have been dumb enough to not cover his tracks.

She would be ready, just in case her hunch was off. "Keep your hand on your hilt, if the worse comes to pass."

* * *

Something was wrong.

Bodies littered the ground of the crossroads. There were no soldiers in sight that would have been responsible for the corpses, but they were fresh; they hadn't been there an hour or so ago, when Elezabeth and Gorim made contact with the members of House Ivo. It was hard to identify them, for she was still a great distance away from them, but she was sure they weren't darkspawn.

As they got closer, more and more details could be made out from the bodies. Elezabeth'd been right: these were dead dwarves, not genlocks. A combination of Warrior and Noble Caste from the look of their armor. In the center of the crossroads was a warrior in silverite armor, similar to hers. The dead man's helmet was missing, and his face was so bloody that she couldn't identify it. His hair was stained red in most places, but bits and pieces of dark blond hair were visible.

_Noble Caste... silverite armor... blond hair... _

Elezabeth removed her helmet, hoping that it's restriction of her sight had made her see things. It hadn't, and now that her line of sight was clearer she had no doubt in her mind who she was looking at.

"No," she let out hardly loud enough for even her to hear. She sped up her pace. The three male dwarves did the same. "No, no, no, no..."

She fell to her knees at the side of the lifeless corpse of Trian Aeducan. His throat had been hacked almost completely through, but the blood had purposefully been smeared on his face. The other men were surely just as brutally marked.

All her hate for him, all the animosity she'd had towards her eldest brother, faded away in the tears rolling down her face. Would he have cried for her, had the situation been reversed? She liked to think he would, if only a little.

Elezabeth hardly noticed Gorim kneel next to her. Hardly noticed her boyfriend trying to comfort her in his embrace. He didn't say anything, or at least, she didn't hear any words.

"What happened here?" she whispered.

"Who would do this?" Gorim asked. "Who else but you would gain from the Crown-Prince's death?"

Suddenly her crying stopped. Her mind raced as she made connections to dots she didn't think existed. Who would gain the most from this? Someone who couldn't stand Trian; someone that needed not only him but her as well out of the way; someone that had no chance of gaining power as long as Trian or Elezabeth stood in their way.

Someone that had suggested her to lead this mission.

"Bhelen," she muttered.

Saying the bastard's name made him appear. She looked up at the sound of his voice, seeing that he was followed by their father, Lord Harrowmont, Lord Meino, and Lord Bemot, and each nobleman's portion of Orzammar's army.

"Hurry, Father!" said Bhelen with a false sense of concern. "Before it's too—"

King Endrin pushed his youngest son out of his way and sluggishly trudged his way over to Trian's body. Elezabeth had never seen so much sorrow on her father's face, nor as much anger. He stood over the body, refusing to meet his daughter's eyes, before falling to his knees just as she had. Considering his old age, doing this must have hurt quite a bit.

But it was hardly the worst pain he was feeling at this moment.

He cradled Trian's head with a tender touch. "By all the Ancestors, what has happened here?" He finally looked at Elezabeth with red eyes. "What has happened here?" he repeated, quieter this time.

Elezabeth couldn't find her voice. All she could do was manage a small squeak.

"It seems we weren't fast enough," said one of the lords. Elezabeth didn't care enough to see which one. "Bhelen was right."

"Elezabeth... tell me this isn't what it looks like," King Endrin said as the other lords and Bhelen closed in. Pyral Harrowmont joined the king, but the rest just watched awkwardly. Except Bhelen, who had the glint in his eyes that always accompanied his greatest acts of mischief.

"I swear, Father, I did not murder Trian," Elezabeth promised. "We only arrived a minute ago. He and the rest of his men were like this when we got here."

"She lies!" Bhelen cried. "She killed Trian! Just as Trian said she would!"

"My lady is innocent!" Gorim said, standing up and putting his hand on his hilt with all of his attention on Bhelen.

Lord Harrowmont shook his head. "Ser Gorim, your loyalty makes you a useless witness." He turned to look at Frandlin Ivo and the scout, whom could be found almost right behind Bhelen. "It falls to other to tell the story."

The trust she had felt for them only minutes ago was gone. Frandlin was a friend of Bhelen, and he and the scout had seemed close when they were in the thaig chamber. The first lie came from the scout.

"Trian and his men were here early. Him and his men must have been separated from the Grey Wardens as they were all alone. Perhaps they encountered darkspawn before getting here? Anyways, we pretended to be friendly, but it was all a ruse. Lady Aeducan had ordered us to kill Prince Trian. I am sorry I went through with it, but I couldn't disobey her, else risk her blade falling upon my head too."

One of the lords questions the scout's integrity, since he was not Noble Caste. So Lord Harrowmont questioned Frandlin Ivo about the scout's story. And so the second damning lie was spoken.

"It is all true. Prince Trian didn't stand a chance. Lady Aeducan then stripped his signet ring from his body—a sick sort of keepsake, had she not been caught red-handed."

"You treacherous bastard!" Gorim shouted.

"Silence, Gorim," said the grieving king. With great effort he got himself back on his feet. Heavy eyes on Elezabeth, he asked, "do you have anything else to say, my daughter?"

Elezabeth was still on the ground next to Trian, so she had to look up at her father to say, "you have to see past this, Father. I did not kill Trian. Bhelen has framed me for his own foul play."

The king rubbed his forehead. "The evidence is stacked against you, Elezabeth. If you are truly innocent, the Assembly will see to it to prove that." He turned to his guards. "Bind her and Ser Gorim. Take them to Orzammar."

* * *

Gorim stood outside her cell. He'd been stripped of his armor and weapons, but otherwise he looked okay. The same couldn't be said about Elezabeth. She'd been locked inside the royal jail for over a day, having not been given a drop of water or an ounce of food. And the guards—either supporters of Trian or under Bhelen's payroll—had not been kind in their handling over her. She hadn't fought back; it was enough that she was being charged with kin slaying, she didn't need to be found with two dead guards and blood on her hands.

"My love," Gorim said to her. "I... I would have come sooner had they allowed it. How're you holding up?"

Elezabeth stepped closer to the bars between them, allowing Gorim to see her swollen eye where one of the guards had punched her with an armored fist.

"Not well," she said shakily. "One of my brothers is dead; the other is the scum of Orzammar. My father thinks I am responsible for Trian." She stood there for a while, still in a state of shock over what has happened. Could it really have only been two days since she was made a commander? She couldn't believe it. "I'm guessing by that look on your face that things haven't gotten any better."

"They have not," he said. "Bhelen's taken almost all of yours and Trian's supporters in the Assembly. The deshyrs met only an hour ago, and they've already passed a motion to condemn you immediately. He's been planning behind your back for who knows how long."

"One Aeducan child dead, and another executed for the crimes of the third. Bhelen has never shown interest in becoming king when my father dies. But now he's all that is left."

"Do not think that everyone is against you, Elezabeth," Gorim said, managing the smallest of smiles. "Some of the lords, especially Harrowmont, are suspicious of Bhelen's instant rise to power. They are rallying, but far too slowly; the Assembly has already sentenced both of us."

Elezabeth took his hand. "What's going to happen to you?"

"My knighthood will be stripped, my name torn from my family records..." He took a deep breath. "But I will be allowed to attempt some sort of life on the surface."

"And what of me?" she asked.

"Lord Harrowmont moved for a similar exile for you, but Bhelen's supporters overwhelmed him." He looked away from her. "You're to be sealed in the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until you are killed."

She considered her options. Going into the Deep Roads alone—and certainly without any sort of protection—is certain death. The Stone would take her, for the Ancestors knew her innocence. Could she try and go for being accepted by the Legion of the Dead? No... Bhelen would not have her escape death by only figuratively dying.

"What does my father say about this? Has he no suspicion like Lord Harrowmont?"

"Harrowmont says the king has taken ill. He couldn't bear losing two of his children at once."

So she would receive no help from her family. Any chance of surviving this stab in her back was practically gone. Gorim must have seen this sense of hopelessness in her expression.

"Do not give up all hope; Lord Harrowmont gave me access to see you so I could tell you this: Duncan and the Grey Wardens are still in the Deep Roads, in tunnels connected to those you are to be left in."

The heaviness in her heart started to go away. So there was one chance to escape Bhelen's treachery.

"If you survive long enough to find the Grey Wardens, you may be able to escape with Duncan. You know as well as I that he would take you, regardless of the accusations against you."

Elezabeth tried to smile but it ended up just less of a frown. "That's all the chance I need."

"I wish I could go with you," Gorim said. "I would give up all the safety in the world to go down this dark path with you. It pains me greatly that this might be the last time we ever meet."

"If I find the Grey Wardens," Elezabeth said, "and we go to the surface, I will not stop until I find you. We will be together again, my love. You know this."

Gorim chuckled lightly. "Of course I know this. Betting against an Aeducan would be unwise." He pressed his head against the bars, and she hers, and their lips were only barely making contact. "I will wait for you," he said once they pulled away.

The guard that had let Gorim in came back, telling him it was time to go. Gorim didn't listen, opting to stay where he was with Elezabeth until the guard forcibly pulled him away. Elezabeth watched him go, longing for him the second their hands broke.

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks to Apollo Wings and Guest for reviewing on the last chapter. I wish it had been a few more people, considering the last chapter had five people. Oh well._

_This chapter was originally about 15,000 words. That was a little too long for my taste, so I had to trim nearly half of it. So if you feel the combat wasn't exactly... descriptive... that's the reason why. I am going to try to have chapters range from 4,000 words to 7,000 from here on out._

_I am going to start working on both this and my Elder Scrolls story "The Nerevarine's Returns" at the same time. This might result in less frequent postings, but hopefully the content is still enjoyable._

_Please leave a review. They make me write faster._


	5. Trouble in the Deep Roads

**TROUBLE IN THE DEEP ROADS**

**Darik**

A ball of arcane energy struck the darkspawn that had attempted to flank Darik. Sliding his dagger out of the Tainted creature's spine he'd emerged from the shadows to kill, he flashed a smile of gratitude at Quincy, the only mage among the current gathering of Grey Wardens, before slipping back into the darkness.

The pack of darkspawn they'd run into were mostly using swords; though a couple were far back using crude imitations of bows. Darik had never encountered the beasts prior to his recruitment, but his assumption that they were the most dangerous in large numbers had been right. With only eight Grey Wardens (he counted himself as one, though he hadn't technically Joined them yet), a group of fifteen to twenty something darkspawn wasn't too much of a threat.

He glanced at the darkspawn that Quincy had saved him from. It was one of the taller, more-humanoid looking ones that the other Wardens referred to as a hurlock. Darik hadn't known there were different types of darkspawn; he'd only ever heard of the genlocks, which were shorter than even the dwarven people.

Then again, since he'd only been a Warden-Recruit for about five days, Darik had previously never needed to know anything about the darkspawn. Other than that they were ugly, rotted-corpse looking creatures who smelled of death and Taint.

Despite having to leave his sister and best friend behind, becoming a Grey Warden had already become one of his best life decisions. _Certainly better than joining the Carta. _His relationship with the other Grey Wardens was still brand new, yet they accepted him readily. Some called him friend, and others said brother. No one cared that he was a criminal, or that he was casteless.

Darik's old mismatched rough hide armor and rusted sword and dagger were gone, having been left with Leske before their capture and was now who-knows-where. Because of that, the Grey Wardens had all chipped in to replace them with new, better equipment. Now he owned a set of appropriately grey-dyed reinforced leather armor, and wielded veridium blades. A light, black cloak and hood had also been purchased, allowing him to better strike unseen from the shadows.

All of which had been a gift, not ever to need be repaid or reimbursed for, from the humans. Darik especially liked that part.

A fireball exploded on the opposite side of the cavern where two hurlocks archers were standing, shaking Darik out of his stupor. They went down screeching in agony.

Seeing that made Darik jealous once again of his inability to perform even the simplest of magic. Apparently it wasn't a common thing among humans and elves in general, but it was completely impossible for a dwarf. Quincy had nearly an unlimited amount of power at his fingertips. Darik had seen him heal injuries both simple and severe, summon the elements of fire and ice to do his bidding, paralyze and even steal the life force of his enemies. For some reason, cutting his hand made his magic even more powerful.

"Don't go around telling people about this when we get to the surface," Quincy had said the first time Darik had seen him slicing open his hand. "This sort of magic is frowned upon by the Chantry."

Darik didn't know what a Chantry was, but Quincy had requested his silence about the blood magic while healing his shoulder, so he'd promised the mage to keep this a secret.

By this point Darik had snuck around the ten remaining darkspawn left in this small part of the Deep Roads. He was about to decapitate the one nearest him when he heard the faint sound of someone running towards him. The rest of the Wardens were separated from him by the darkspawn, but the footsteps weren't as sporadic or random as that of a charging hurlock or genlock.

Darik focused on the tunnel from which the echoes were coming from. He half expected it to be one of the many nobles he had offended. Or maybe a soldier who got separated from his unit; the Grey Wardens had elected not to return to Orzammar, since they'd achieved their goal of recruiting a dwarf, so they too were alone out here in the Deep Roads.

As the thud of metal against stone became closer, Darik heard another, lighter sound coming from the same tunnel. He recognized it immediately as the darkspawn, though he had no idea how many were seemingly chasing this lone wanderer.

He took off towards the tunnel, forgetting that there were darkspawn he and the Wardens were already engaging. None of the warriors noticed him, but the remaining archer caught sight of him and opened fire. The hurlock was out of his way, so Darik had to dodge and duck the impressively accurate missiles on his way into the tunnel.

The person—who he now saw was a dwarf, though he hadn't expected anything else—was near the mouth of the small tunnel when Darik got there. He—or she, based on her stance—stopped to look at him. She couldn't tell much about him, even with her dwarven sight, thanks to his cloak hiding everything but his armor. In turn, he couldn't tell a lot about her, other than that she'd made a fine job as a scavenger. Her equipment was a mismatch of the poorly made darkspawn metal, rusted iron, and ragged leathers. The sword in her hand was discolored with darkspawn blood.

"Who are you?" she asked him in a distantly familiar voice. She had her sword at the ready, likely expecting him to attack her.

Darik sheathed his blades and raised his hands cautiously. "I—"

The wild screams of the eight hurlocks and genlocks behind her drew both of their attention. Darik drew his weapons and rushed at the darkspawn. The woman raised her shield and matched his pace.

Had he the time, he would have admired her bravery.

She knocked down the genlock at the front of pack and cut off the head of the one immediately behind it. Darik ducked down to slash the fallen darkspawn's throat then parried a hurlock's slash at his abdomen. The woman at his side kicked its feet from underneath it, and together they ran it through.

Darik unhooked a freeze bomb from his belt, given to him by the archer Warden Cayden, and tossed it to the rear of the remaining group of darkspawn. He tackled the woman to the ground just as she knocked back a genlock that had attempted to flank them.

"What are you—?"

The ice-cold flask shattered, releasing an explosion of frost and rime onto the darkspawn. Nowhere near as powerful as Quincy's magic, but it was enough to do its job. Two genlocks, who were closest to the grenade, were killed instantly by the force of the blast. The remaining darkspawn were frozen nearly solid, becoming like Tainted statues. Darik knew it wouldn't hold, as this was the second time he'd used one of the freeze bombs.

"Smash 'em to pieces," he told the woman as they clambered onto their feet.

She battered the genlock she'd taken down, destroying the thing's head in one swift blow. Darik used the hilt of his sword to bludgeon the last surviving hurlocks before they could break free from their icy prisons.

He wiped the gore from his weapons and put them away. The woman had no sheath to place her sword, or any means to strap the shield to her back, so she left them in her hands.

"Thanks for the help," she said to him. "I didn't have any trouble fighting two or three at a time, but when I ran into this many... I wasn't sure what to do."

Again her voice struck him as one he should recognize. _Maybe she's one of the enforcers for the Carta. Could've been caught now that Beraht's not around to hardly protect those working for him. Tossed into the Deep Roads so that the damned nobles don't have to stick our kind in their fancy cells. _

His curiosity got the best of him. "No problem," he said. "But what are you doing out here? We're miles from Orzammar."

"I could ask _you _the same thing," she said.

"But I asked you first."

"Honestly? How old are you? Five?"

"Six, actually."

Before their banter could continue there was a flash of light in the tunnel. Darik turned to see his fellow Wardens had apparently finished off the larger group of darkspawn. The light illuminated from Quincy's staff, though Darik would have been able to see them all just fine without it.

Duncan was at the head of the gang, like always. To his left was Quincy; he was fifteen years Darik's senior, with salt-and-pepper hair and robes with a bird he referred to as a griffon embroidered on his chest. Immediately behind them were Cayden and Liam Trapp, young twin brothers with ash-blond hair that'd been recruited together three years ago. Liam kept his hair long while Cayden's was short, allowing the others to easily distinguish one from the other. Cayden mostly used his longbow, using his daggers only when the darkspawn got close, and Liam used a sword and shield, adding further distinction between the two.

Not far behind them was the burliest man Darik had ever seen, Grigor. If not for Duncan rescuing him, and his awe at Quincy's magic, Grigor would be Darik's favorite as he was the most dwarven-like of the humans with his gigantic black beard and seemingly unending capacity for alcohol that even Darik could. He wielded a two-handed sword and wore massive steel armor that made an already heavy man much heavier.

Ievos, who walked alongside Grigor, was on the opposite side of the spectrum, being the smallest human Darik had ever seen. Or so he though the first time he'd seen him. It turned out that Ievos was actually an elf, whose pointed ears had been hidden by his cowl. He had intricate tattoos on his face, unlike Darik's brand in that they represented one of his gods—or "Creator", as Ievos called him—and were actually a sign of honor among his people, the "Dalish." He talked only when spoken to, but his skill with his longbow earned him the respect he clearly deserved.

Lagging far behind was the bald-headed Kennith. He too used a two-handed weapon, though his was a maul. Before Joining the Grey Wardens he had been an Ash Warrior, a clan of human beserkers whose training he claimed descended from the renowned dwarven principle. Darik had no idea if that was true or not, so he just assumed that it was, since there was no reason Kennith would need to lie about it. The others called him "Red," on account of how flushed his face would become in combat; since he was a beserker, his battle prowess came from releasing his inner rage upon his enemies, fighting through any and all pain until all who opposed him had fallen. Outside of a fight, however, he was quite the calm guy.

"I see we are not alone out here," said Duncan, looking at the dwarf next to Darik. "You are lucky we can sense the darkspawn, as you don't make a good first impression in what you're wearing."

"Thank the Stone I finally found you all," the woman said with a sigh of relief.

Duncan raised a brow. "Lady Aeducan? Is that you?"

The woman nodded. She dropped her sword and shield and removed her helmet. Sure enough, much to everyone's surprise, Princess Elezabeth Aeducan had joined them in the Deep Roads. She was even more attractive up close. Her eyes were enthralling; Darik didn't understand why until he saw they were two separate colors: blue and brown. There was bruising on her right eye, as if she'd been hit. Her curly blond hair was sticking to her with sweat. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been wearing fancy silverite armor, better than anyone but Duncan was using among the Wardens. Seeing her in this inadequate gear was jarring.

"What are you doing here alone?" Duncan asked her. "Where are your troops?"

Elezabeth had questions of her own. "How did Trian end up separated from you? Why was _he _all butalone?"

Her tone was distraught, which Darik thought odd to use for her most fierce rival, even if it was her brother. He instantly knew something had changed—and not for the better.

"Prince Bhelen's men had sent word that they needed the Crown-Prince's assistance immediately," Duncan said slowly. "We offered to come with him, but he thought a small force would be enough to handle, as he said, 'anything Bhelen would see as a problem.'"

Elezabeth cursed Bhelen's name. Again Darik thought this was unusual, as Rica had told him that the two of them were closer with each other than with Trian.

"What has happened, your Highness?" Quincy asked with a great deal of sincerity.

She shook her head. "That title won't be necessary any longer. I have been stripped of my house, thanks to the treachery of Bhelen." She looked down at her feet. "Trian was murdered by Bhelen, and the blame has been placed on me. He's turned most of the Noble Caste against me; even my father could not see the truth."

"And you were made to walk the Deep Roads as your punishment," Duncan said, "to live in exile until the darkspawn would take you."

"Sounds kind of like the Calling," Grigor said.

Immediately he earned wicked looks from the other Wardens. Darik knew not what for, though whatever this "Calling" was seemed not to be good.

Duncan returned his attention to Elezabeth after a moment. "You have done better than most could, surviving the Deep Roads alone. And I assume finding us was not a coincidence."

"You assumed right," Elezabeth said. "My second—" her voice cracked. She was quiet for a few seconds, and sounded quieter once she continued. "My second... was exiled to the surface, but he told me that you all were still in the Deep Roads, not far from where I was to be left. It turns out that you were a bit farther than I expected, but it's by the Ancestors will that I have made it."

"I imagine your sword arm helped you out, too," Liam chimed in.

Elezabeth brushed the hair from her face "That it did." She looked to Duncan. "You told me that you needed more Grey Wardens like me, and since you came to Orzammar seeking dwarves to recruit—"

She cut herself off and suddenly moved her eyes to Darik, as if having forgotten that he'd been there the whole time. Her stare was brutal, but Darik withstood it. _Of course she would be upset with me. I did ruin her Provings after all. _

"Do you plan on blinking sometime soon?" he asked her.

"You're the brand," she muttered.

"I've got a name, you know." He stood tall, though the only person he was taller than was Elezabeth. "If you're going to be pissed at me, at least use my name. Darik Brosca."

"Brosca?" Her eyes somehow narrowed even further. "You have a sister named Rica Brosca?"

Darik faltered. _How did she know that? Does she know Rica's noble? _"Yeah..."

Without warning, Elezabeth lunged at him, knocking him down to the ground with her hands at his throat. Darik was fast, but even he was taken off guard. The Wardens moved in to pull her off of him before she killed him, but she held her grip on him with all her might.

"You fucking bastard!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "You and your fucking sister helped Bhelen do this to me! It's your fault Trian's dead. It's your fault I was banished. All you fucking casteless are the same! Why did I think the one whoring herself out to Bhelen would be any different?!"

Darik couldn't respond, on account of his not being able to breath.

Quincy cast a spell on her. Elezabeth was out cold instantly, releasing her grasp on Darik and collapsing to the ground beside him. Her face was still tight with anger.

Grigor carried her off a short distance away from him as the other Wardens watched anxiously, undoubtedly confused by what had just happened. Darik certainly was; he had no idea where that had come from. All he gained from that was a hurt throat and knowledge of who Rica's noble was. _She scored an Aeducan? Not bad, sis. Not bad._

Quincy and Duncan knelt down beside Darik, who had propped himself against the tunnel wall. The refreshing tingle of healing magic made it easier to breath.

"What was she talking about?" Duncan asked with concern.

Darik shrugged. "I don't know. But when she wakes up, I plan to find out."

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks to Apollo Wings, FearNotTheNight, stockcarrot, and Guest for reviewing on the last chapter._

_Really short compared to the other chapters, but I think it does its job well. _

_I always thought it was ridiculous that out of all the origins, Dwarf Noble was the only one that had Duncan not traveling alone. Only slightly less ridiculous than that is him traveling with only three other nameless, generic Wardens in the Dwarf Noble Origin. So I gave made up some OCs to be his traveling buddies. I know that Grigor/Gregor was mentioned by Alistair in in-game dialogue, but hardly anything was mentioned about him, so I consider him an OC anyways. Expect there to be more than just the six introduced in this chapter to be met in Ostagar; the Duncan in-game certainly did a poor job of recruiting an appropriate amount of Wardens. I plan to fix that._

_Please review. It makes me want to continue writing ASAP._


	6. Questioning by the Campfire

**QUESTIONING BY THE CAMPFIRE**

**Elezabeth**

"She's waking up."

Elezabeth forced her eyes to open. She was exhausted, as if all her energy had drained out of her. Looking around, she saw that she was sitting on the ground without any aid from a wall or gear. Rather than the darkspawn tunnel she'd last remembered being in, she was now in the actual Deep Roads themselves.

A light captured her eye. It was that of a small fire that took the chill off her bones.

Sitting near the fire were eight men, all which were looking at her. She immediately locked eyes with the casteless dwarf, whose face was no longer hidden by a hood. Had he not said so, Elezabeth would have never guessed he was the brother of Rica Brosca. They looked nothing alike, besides their shared brands. Rica had been small, even for a dwarf, with fiery red hair and a pretty face—for a casteless. Darik, on the other hand, was tall with thick dirt-brown hair. Most of his face was covered by his exceptionally large beard, though the brand under his right eye could not be hidden.

Anger boiled in her as quickly as it had in the tunnel. This dwarf was to blame for Trian's death, and her exile. _I will have my revenge. _

She attempted to charge forward, but couldn't. She tried to push herself off the stone she sat on, but her arms failed her. No matter how hard she strained to move anything but her eyes, her body failed her.

"It's not going to work," a voice from around the campfire informed her. "You'll just tire yourself out."

Elezabeth looked at the man who'd spoken. He held a staff in his hand, similar to that which Lord Harrowmont used as a fancy walking stick, only the human's was much longer. While the other Wardens wore either leather or metal armor, this human had on robes. She knew enough about the surface to understand that this man was a mage; that her inability to move was thanks to him.

She reluctantly stopped glaring at Darik and looked at the mage, unsure if her mouth would be able to open. It did. "Why have you paralyzed me, Warden?"

Duncan answered for the mage. "This was merely a precautionary measure, Lady Aeducan. We could not have you trying to kill Darik again, once you woke."

"I have every right to kill him." She narrowed her eyes at the brand. "You and your sister helped Bhelen murder Trian and shift the blame to me."

Darik sniffed loudly. He got to his feet and proceeded towards Elezabeth. She saw that neither of his sheaths was empty. It would require no time at all to draw his dagger and slit her throat, making Bhelen Aeducan a single child. None of the Wardens would be fast enough to stop him. _Could Bhelen have really thought this far? Exile me, and have either the darkspawn or this bastard kill me, eliminating any and all threat to his taking the throne._

She smiled defiantly as the dwarf got closer. Lord Harrowmont had spoken to her, just before she was sent into the Deep Roads. He'd needed little convincing from her about her innocence, but there was nothing he could do for her. But she'd made him swear to the Ancestors that Bhelen would never take the throne. As much as Elezabeth would like to seat of power in Orzammar to remain with House Aeducan, Bhelen was not worthy to lead. Pyral, howeverm was her father's closest friend and advisor, High-General of Orzammar, and head of House Harrowmont, second only to her house in terms of power.

Elezabeth had made Harrowmont swear to take the throne as his own when King Endrin returned to the Stone. To banish Bhelen liked he'd banished her, and to lead Orzammar to victory against the Blight. Lord Harrowmont had agreed immediately, saying that he would ensure Bhelen would not gain from his treachery.

Darik stopped right in front of her. He knelt down, so that their eyes were level. His eyes were a light shade of blue, reminding her of the sapphire necklace she'd received from her father for her eighteenth name day. For a moment, she was lost in them. Until she noticed that he was talking to her.

"...Nothing to do with your brother's death," he said.

She had to guess he was denying his guilt. "Bhelen would not have been able to act against Trian and I had you not fought disguised as Everd, ruined my Proving, and had my assignment in battle changed."

"That's all true," he said, "but none of what I did was to deliberately harm you or anyone."

He paused, as if waiting for her to deny his words. She tried to read his expression, but when all she could really see was his eyes and brand, it wasn't easy to tell if he was lying. _He has to be—he's casteless. They don't tell the truth unless they can gain from it._

"Then why did you do it?" Elezabeth asked him slowly.

"That's a long story."

"I've got time."

Darik looked over his shoulder at the other Wardens. "Might as well release her, Quincy. I certainly wouldn't trust someone if I were forced to just sit there and listen." He turned back Elezabeth. "Try not to choke me to death right away."

The mage Warden nodded.

Suddenly Elezabeth fell backwards, no longer. The magical paralysis that'd made her as stiff as a corpse had been dismissed without any apparent effort from Quincy—the mage. She caught herself before she could smack her head against the stone floor.

"Sorry," the mage said, sounding sincere. "I should have warned you about that."

Elezabeth only nodded, forcing a mask to hide her shock and awe. She didn't want to show any of the Wardens—especially the casteless recruit—how much the mage's power frightened her. It was unnatural for anyone to have the ability to do anything in the palm of their hands. _The Ancestors don't make dwarven mages for a reason. _

For a second, it seemed like Darik was looking right past her mask, seeing the scared, alone dwarf that was wearing it. Then he offered his hand. "Need some help up?"

Part of Elezabeth wanted to finish what she started in the darkspawn tunnel. She'd been disarmed during her slumber, but she'd improvised in the past. There were plenty of large, pointy rocks around her; one quick bash to his head would end him. She had a duty to her family and the Ancestors to avenge Trian. And since Bhelen was out of reach, killing the man that helped him would be a step in the right direction.

But something stopped her. First of all, she figured that the Wardens, if they didn't outright kill her, would not take her in if she killed one of their recruits. Secondly, she'd seen how fast Darik was in combat. He could dodge or counter her attack and then draw his blades on her.

Thirdly... she was curious. There was a chance, however small it may be that Darik was telling the truth. _Maybe he only indirectly caused Trian's death. Would my honor demand I kill him then? _

Whatever would happen soon, she still wasn't about to willingly touch a casteless dwarf. "I don't need your help," she said, rejecting his offer.

Darik shrugged and returned to his place by the fire while Elezabeth struggled to get on her feet. It was never easy getting off the ground in heavy armor, if her assortment of scavenged protection could be called that. But that her limps were still asleep from not moving so long didn't help matters.

"Figured you could eat while I explain it to ya," Darik said once she was heading towards the Wardens.

She found a spot next to Duncan, with the fire separating her from the duster. The largest human she'd ever seen who smelled strongly of ale handed her a small ration of some sort of meat. She couldn't determine what kind of animal it had been, but she didn't much care; the last time she eaten was a petite final meal the morning she was exiled into the Deep Roads. Any food could have tasted terrible and yet be the best thing she'd ever had.

Trying not to stuff her face, she ate and listened to Darik's story. He had a way with words, allowing her to completely visualize everything that he described in great detail. _He sounds like one of those minstrels—no, bard is the correct word—that Orlais is so famous for. _The comparison made her doubt exactly how much of his tale was truthful, on top of him being a brand.

For the most part, Darik was the only one that spoke for the next hour or so. Duncan pitched in towards the end of the tale, stating how he went on a search for him when he was never delivered to the royal prison and the bodies were found in the Proving Grounds. The other Wardens had been there when Darik and his friend Leske came out of Anor Beraht's shop, bloodied and injured from fighting through the Carta headquarters, but they had nothing to add to the experience.

Once he concluded his story on his and Elezabeth's less-than-friendly meeting in the darkspawn tunnel, he eyed her carefully. "So there you go, Aeducan. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Do you still blame me for the death of your brother, and your new status as a casteless dwarf?"

That last part made her choke on her drink. The large man called Grigor patted her on the back with the strength of ten brontos until she finally stopped coughing.

Recovered, Elezabeth gave Darik her most evil glare. "Do not ever call me casteless. Orzammar may not know my innocence, but the Ancestors see all. The Stone will still accept me the day I fall; the same could never be said about you, for the Ancestors don't even acknowledge your existence!"

To her surprise, Darik just sat there and took it. He was definitely the strangest dwarf she'd ever had the displeasure of knowing.

He sighed. "I'm tired of this." He stood, removed his cloak and undid the straps of his leather armor on his left shoulder. With the belts and buckles released, the padding that had been covering his body now laid hanging down protecting nothing. His chest was completely exposed to any and all attacks.

He walked over to Elezabeth and drew his veridium dagger, handing it to her. Lowering himself down in front of her, Darik pressed the sharp point to his thin shirt, directly above his heart. "Avenge your brother," he said.

Elezabeth allowed herself a moment to process what was happening before she responded. "What are you talking about?"

"You're right; I lied. Prince Bhelen hired me through my sister—who you called a whore, if memory serves me correctly—to ruin your Proving. He explained that, if he I did as he commanded, nothing would stop him from taking the throne. That would make Rica the future mother to the heir to all of Orzammar. How could I possibly refuse such an offer?"

"Darik..." Duncan said uneasily.

"No," Darik said. "I've already gotten what I wanted. Rica will be taken care of till the end of her days. I never honestly cared what would happen to me; if Rica hadn't been in danger of Beraht's wrath for my ruining the Proving, I would have stayed down in the Carta cells, twiddling my thumbs until my time was up."

He stared into Elezabeth's eyes. "Kill me. Take my life, knowing that, had this casteless dwarf never existed, Prince Trian would probably still be alive today. You would still be sitting in the royal palace, enjoying the high-life that comes with being royalty."

Elezabeth looked down at the dagger, then back at Darik. His face was that of any Paragon statue in the Hall of Heroes—expressionless, empty, immortal. She glanced around at the Grey Wardens, but they all seemed to be ready to react to whatever the end result would be.

She dropped the dagger, though it took her a few seconds to realize this, having left her hand still floating in the air.

Darik smiled. "Thank the Stone. For a second, I thought I was going to have Quincy pumping magic into my tiny, shriveled heart to keep me from dying."

The mage Warden cleared his throat. "Actually Darik, I'm not that great with healing. And since dwarves are naturally resilient to magic... I highly doubt I would have been able to save you if she'd... you know."

"Oh," Darik exclaimed as he refastened his armor. "That would have been nice to know before I risked everything on that." He bent down, picked up his dagger and sheathed it. "At least everything worked out for the best."

He returned to his place on the opposite side of the fire and went back to eating, as if nothing had happened. Elezabeth, though she hadn't fallen for the trick, still didn't entirely trust Darik. _He's very good at reading people, to have expected me not to stab him. _

_I will have to keep my eye on him._

* * *

Duncan did not formally invite Elezabeth to join the Grey Wardens until the camp started to be torn down. "I, Duncan, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, extend the invitation for you to Join our order."

Knowing that meant she would be stuck with Darik for at least as long as it took to leave the Deep Roads, Elezabeth said with very little enthusiasm, "I accept."

Duncan nodded. "I will not pretend to fully understand the way your caste system works, but you cannot be a Grey Warden and not go to the surface. If you weren't considered casteless by your people before, you certainly will be after."

"The Stone will not leave my side," Elezabeth said plainly. "Dwarves have gone to the surface before in previous Blights, and they have become my Ancestors. The Shaperate has it recorded that Foral Aeducan was a Grey Warden, and in the end, he returned to Orzammar."

There was something in Duncan's eyes that she could not read. And his words were too cryptic to make any sense to her.

"In the end, we all come to Orzammar."

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks to Apollo Wings, FearNotTheNight, and Guest for reviewing._

_Sorry for such a long delay between updates. My Elder Scrolls fanfic "The Nerevarine's Return" is about to reach its one year anniversary since I started it. I've been working on the special update I have planned for it, which took a lot more time than I'd expected. Should return to 1-2 week updates soon. Probably._

_Leave me a review if you have the time. They make me want to upload the next chapter as fast as I can._


End file.
